Golden Haze
by anamatics
Summary: There is a golden haze that comes over a Veela's vision when they are upset or angry or in love. After the fall of Voldemort, Fleur takes a position at Hogwarts and finds herself moving forward rather than going backwards for the first time in her life. FD/HG
1. Prelude

**Golden Haze : Prelude**

**AN: **This is truly a story to figure out if there is interest. I have not written Harry Potter in quite some time. I have ideas for this story but not for an epic. This would be fairly condensed. Let me know what you think. ~ana

A huge thanks to shetan83 for her help betaing!

* * *

This was a truly unfortunate predicament. There was very little outside of those words to describe the sinking, dreadful feeling in the pit of her stomach as she observed, through carefully lined eyes half-hidden behind unnaturally long eyelashes, the scene before her.

It was a grand celebration - a party for their (lord and) savior. The Dark Lord had perished, as had far too many innocents. Still the party was as lavish as a rebuilding wizarding government could possibly allow. Bright candles twinkled merrily, and conversation was a dull murmur over a wizarding band that was doing very little to set the mood by playing positively pitiful slow songs that, while offsetting the mood, did little to ease the pain in her heart.

She felt strange on the arm of this man she did not love (nor he her), being heralded as a hero simply because she had survived. Surviving, she decided as she had walked into this party to great fanfare and to-do, was simply dreadful when she was surrounded by people who were more than content to continue this facade and act as though there was truly not a void within all of their cores.

The missing faces were as marked, a blight among the strained smiles of their once-peers.

Her husband (escort) bent down and brushed her impossibly straight blond hair away from her neck. "Would you please try to smile?" The question was hot breath on her ear, an unpleasant hiss as she was jolted from what had been (another) lapse in her well-practiced perfectly neutral expression. A gentle and yet firm squeeze on her arm reminded her that she was putting on airs here. She hated this feeling - they thought her a heroine for marrying him after what had been done to him, to love him despite his affliction (she had one of her own, but they all forgot about that as soon as they looked at her).

A pleasant smile on blood red lips - standing out so starkly against pale skin (unnaturally so). "Oui." It was as quiet as the breath that warned her that she was falling short of expectations. There were so many more now that it was done and over, and she felt completely miserable.

She did not trust her English in moments like this - did not trust how her voice would shake and how she would stumble over words that she really should have known after nearly a decade of studying the language. French was what she knew, what she lived and breathed and longed to hear again all around her instead of these crass voices and difficult to understand accents. It was par for the course though, normal, and she had grown used to that when she'd first taken up work as a curse breaker after finishing her mastery in spell creation.

She exhaled quietly, and inclined her head to the crooked old man who had seemed quite taken with her husband before he'd really looked at her. It was all a farce.

They'd talked, she and William, talked at length about their unfortunate situation. They, both curse breakers, had wanted separation from their families. His parents were overbearing and hers simply did not understand or refused to accept that she would never find what it was that was lost. It was not lost, it was merely a delusion on her part, and one that William helped her (perhaps unhealthily) to continue. He had offered her a way out, a loveless arrangement while he worked through his own more deeply buried sexuality issues.

And then the war happened, and they were thrust into a situation where their predicament had become a constant reminder of what they both lacked. _Love..._ There was no love between them even then, and she had turned her thoughts inward to her present situation. There was nothing that could be done for herself and William. It was all a lie and not a very good one at that. They were the best of friends, even now, and nothing more than that.

And that, quite honestly, begged the question of what Fleur Delacour was doing in being completely complacent in a fate that had been thrust upon her quite by happenstance. She worked at Gringotts in a different department than William now - requesting a transfer as soon as they were to begin their farce - but now she wanted out. It was not the work, which was fascinating and invigorating. She merely longed for a chance to do something for herself for a change.

There was an older woman in the crowd with a quiet smile who had, just moments ago, offered her a job at that damn school that had ruined her life.

There was that golden threesome (Trio. They went by trio.) standing together, blinking awkwardly in the limelight of what they had achieved at the expense of so many. They looked truly uncomfortable and inexperienced. Innocent in a way that she could not find the words to describe.

There was that girl - the one who she was dead set on ignoring (until the monster that barely slept and hardly ate for the want of her took her over completely) - looking almost as heartbroken as Fleur felt.

There was the knowledge that those who had missed their year at Hogwarts would be returning to repeat for their NEWTs.

There was a sense, however faint, that maybe she could turn her life around.


	2. Entre Acte

**Golden Haze : Entre Acte**

**AN: **I'm impressed with the response and feedback. This is still such a new story to me, but I love and crave reviews. Please enjoy this next installment of what is sure to be a very good story.

Thank you to those who did review, when I am not so busy later tonight, I will send you all responses. ~ana

Again, a huge thanks to shetan83 for her awesome Beta!

* * *

The rooms of the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry left much to be desired in their small and shabby appearance, but they were cozy, tucked into an alcove on the third floor with a fantastic view of the lake. The rooms were on the side of the castle protected against the winter winds. It would not get as drafty here as it did in some other parts of the castle. For now, in the cooler days of fall, the rooms were nice, cool and quiet. Far away from the reported chaos and traffic that would soon flood the corridors when term started.

It was probably a good thing, because Fleur (now Professor. It had a nice ring to it) Delacour was going to need some moments of peace in the hell she was about to inflict upon herself.

William had taken her out, to a gay bar no less, for their final huzzah before she started her new job. They'd danced (with each other, and others), and it had been lovely. What she'd truly needed, to cut loose and forget who she was for a few precious hours. He was so sweet with her then, so wonderfully and delightfully gay. It was nice to see him finally admit it to someone. Maybe now he had a chance at happiness.

She'd taken off her ring long ago - not wanting it to get lost or William killed had she been captured during the war. He'd only taken it off for the evening, but it felt really good to just be friends again. To not lie. (This farcical charade could only carry on for so long before someone was bound to notice).

Maybe _she_ would notice, she was keen and intelligent and highly observant. (All good qualities to have in a potential whatever-she-apparently-was to the veela inside Fleur's consciousness. Not a mate. Never a mate.)

Denial.

Fleur slumped down into the leather-backed chair behind the barren desk and drummed her fingers on the worn wood. She had ideas for lessons, but she honestly would have to spend at least a week ascertaining the skill of her students. This was commonplace according to Minerva, as was a new teacher each and every year. No one had learned much of anything last year either. Severus Snape had tried, but he could not do much to stave off the Dark Lord's plan for the school. When Harry Potter had told them of this, she had been shocked but not surprised, for she had always thought of the dark potions master as being somewhat of a noble man, despite his dreadful personality. Perhaps she had simply not known him well enough to hate him as the others did.

Yes, she had a plan now. She could fake this on pretense for at least a week or so until she could find the time to make up for the fact that she was woefully under-prepared for the rigors of such a job. Flecks of gold swam before her as she shook her head ever so slightly. It was odd (the mate was nowhere in sight), she'd been seeing the golden haze her mother, aunts and uncles had warned her of throughout her childhood (and adulthood). They'd told her to fear it and to fear the inner veela that so obviously plagued their own consciousness so strongly. She was stronger than them and had never really been plagued with this affliction (or was it merely a problem?) as they had as children. Or at least Fleur liked to delude herself that this was the case.

This would only get worse as time progressed here at Hogwarts. There were too many complications ahead of her and not enough behind her. They all thought she was married, but their stares would come anyway, openly. There was a reputation that she had to constantly maintain. She was French after all. They did things differently from the English, and their nations had been at war with each other for ages on and off again as if to prove this point.

This was no good.

Deep within herself, Fleur Delacour had always known that this day was inevitable. She would have to face those eyes, of William's friend - her (shudder) brother-in-law's best friend. That girl who somehow could not understand, even back then - when Fleur was a mere girl herself - what had transpired between them. That girl who was content to ignore that moment when Fleur's veela heart had cried out to her in the most pathetic and horrible of conversation attempts. (Pick-up lines should be stricken from all languages, especially English).

There was something about her. That girl (the one she loved. Did not love.) was brilliant in her own right, and Fleur knew that while she herself was older, it was only a matter of time until Hermione Granger eclipsed them all. Fleur only hoped, oh so desperately, that she would be able to find the words to express herself before she lost control completely.

They were all adults now, but that did not matter.

Her fingers drummed harder. She did not want to admit the fact that she probably would need to investigate this attraction (love) that she had of Hermione Granger sooner rather than later, as she was running out of time to act and search out her destined one if it was not, indeed, the golden girl of the golden trio.

The beast swelled up within her and she was almost certain that she was correct in her assumption. There was no mistaking attraction to a veela, even if one's blood was tainted like hers was. Fleur Delacour was simply good at denying herself what she had longed for since just after her seventeenth birthday - it had been almost five years, and she had gotten adept at even being around the girl without showing outward signs.

The crescent-shaped scars on the inside of her palms from clenched fists not withstanding. She was a horrid liar even then, but hiding behind an accent and a fake marriage had done wonders for her confidence and mental fortitude.

Still, the word slipped out from between gracefully parted lips as she sank further into her chair. "Merde." She was screwed, fucked six ways to Sunday without William there to act as her protector and shield the world from her obvious affliction that she had yet to find the courage to tell him about. He had his own issues as the eldest son and heir by wizarding law of an old family. It was unfair to force her own upon him when they seemed so trivial.

That girl, that girl who plagued her every thought when she left England to return to her native France. That girl who came to her sham of a wedding and was probably at least romantically inclined toward William's brother. She'd never picked up on that though - in her limited interaction with the girl.

Perhaps this was a sign for the better.

Perhaps it meant that she would be able to finally, finally, make a move for her own personal betterment.


	3. Act One, Scene One

**Golden Haze : Act One  
**

**AN: **People are really digging this story, and I'm really digging what you have to say in your responses. Thank you so much for commenting and reading, I really appreciate it. ~ana

* * *

There was breath on her lips, fluttering in and out in harsh, shallow gasps (pants). They were slightly parted, her lips, as she inhaled and exhaled quickly, her concentration faltering as she tried desperately (half-heartedly) to derail this particular train of thought before it started. It was too late though, she was only just barely resisting anyway. What would it be like, to take that girl that she had deprived herself of for so long? What would it be like to see her as Fleur now was - full of lust and longing and raw sexual energy just waiting to be tapped into? What would be be like when she came?

She could not shake the train of thought. Sometimes it was good to simply cave to the craving, the want, oh so desperately to possess what she had denied herself to so many long years now. Her breath hitched as the fantasy took her away into a place that those who are not of veela birth do not understand. To a veela, fantasy was a poor substitute but still far more powerful than that of a human being. They could manipulate, control and in some cases (if they were pure enough) even feel their fantasies.

Fleur Delacour was not that skilled. She had never been nor did she have any interest in being that skilled. (lies.) The idea of experiencing something before it actually happened was completely unacceptable in her mind and she hated the fact that should could - on some level - indulge herself without putting in the actual work. It seemed unfaithful, or maybe even a violation of the others essence, to take them by force on the whim of a fantasy.

She didn't want it (yes she did) and this was simply letting go.

She had to - she had to know release or else she would be unable to function when the students arrived tonight. When that damn girl arrived tonight.

Fingers curled up against herself - slowly, quietly, desperately. (Pathetically.) The veela was insisting now, thinking of that girl (the one she does not love), of her splayed out before her, wanting, begging, insane with lust. Thinking of her voice, so brusk and businesslike and bloody British, full of passion and expression in a way that the English language does not really possess. Fleur would teach her the language of her people, teach her how to sing and express herself as fully as possible so that they could share in the expression of love (lust).

She was warm, heated to her core as she caressed that ache. This was so embarrassing, infuriating. She had no control over herself and just the thought of being alone - at any point in time with this girl with the veela pressing up against her consciousness - urging her to do things like this. Her breath came faster now, and her hand moved fluidly, in practiced motions that she liked to pretend did not exist. She did not lose control like this often, but her skill and self-awareness were clearly well-practiced.

She could do anything else in the world right now, but she chose to do desperate, foolish, lustful things.

She was living a lie now. They thought she was married to William, they thought her a non-sexual being. They thought her celibate and committed.

She was going to have to prove them all wrong.

The veela, no matter how diluted and repressed, is still the most sexual of beings.

The touch was wonderful, elating. She was lying to herself again. It would be alright, she knew it would be in the end. If she was right, and the veela was so damn sure of itself, the build up would be the worst part. She knew that there was no way that this would be as easy as giving into her fantasies as she was so tentatively allowing herself to do now.

She finished quickly and urgently. The desperation to get away - to hide from the harsh reality of the sheer impossibility of these fantasies overcame her then and she heaved a dry sob as she came, the release not nearly as good as she had hoped.

She hated herself. She hated the veela that had seduced away her grandfather and had forever tainted her family line. The feelings that she had now were so confusing and god-awful that she longed for answers that were different from the harsh realities that she had known since that first fateful meeting when she was seventeen.

Fleur dressed hurriedly for the day, not much caring for make-up or fanfare on a day where she would be seated, listening to collective lesson plans and discussions on how best to handle the losses and damages to the school that had yet to be repaired. Hogwarts was a memorial now - the fields outside the school now marred forever with the names of those who had perished upon them. They had all agreed to offer their services to any and all that needed them. The children had had a hard time the previous year - they all knew it - but they were a strong resilient bunch. (Adept at hiding it really).

While just barely out of August, the castle was cool enough that she dawned a sweater over her blouse. She'd found a pair of pinstriped pants in London with William and he had bought them for her saying that they were flattering but conservative enough for a place like Hogwarts. Much, if not the rest of Fleur's wardrobe was not, apparently, but her over robes were far older - a neutral gray silk that would suit her well until the weather grew colder. She looked, as she paused to inspect herself in the mirror, decent, professional. (matronly.)

She shuddered.

She could get used to this. She would get used to this.

The staff room was half-way full by the time she arrived. A part of her wondered if they knew - if they had noticed the smell on her, it was everywhere, all around her. Pheromones were something that a veela could detect almost effortlessly, but the smell was so overpowering to her overly-sensitive nose that the others in the room had to have noticed it.

There was the new potions professor, some middle-aged witch who seemed to be deeply engrossed in the text that she had used during her seventh year when she was attending classes at Hogwarts during the Triwizard Tournament. Next to her sat a rather brawny looking wizard who had taken over half of the transfiguration classes from McGonagall - she would still teach the upper levels (No one blamed her, they still needed an actual good teacher) along with her duties as headmistress. His name was Peter Townsend and he seemed to be a fairly decent man, if fully under the power of the veela within her.

"'allo." She said quietly, arranging herself next to him on the beat-up sofa that smelled slightly of mothballs and other unmentionables that Fleur could not quite place. The smell of sex was on her, he could probably smell it, given how his pupils were dilated and his expression had become rather vacant. "Is everyone here yet?"

Townsend shook his head, looking away from her as his face reddened slightly. He was a good man, Fleur knew, and a decent one. He was ashamed - knowing that Fleur was (falsely) married, but he could not help himself. No man could. "Thinkin that Minerva and Filius are still up in her office." He smiled, rather dashingly at her then, "Shouldn't be long though."

She nodded, glad that he was at least speaking to her now. Before it had been a near-constant struggle to get him to talk to her as he constantly became flabbergasted around her. They would get used to it, as William and the others at Gringotts had. It simply took time that Fleur did not think she possessed. It was a game of give and of take. She drove them mad, that damn girl that she would have to pretend to teach (she did not need it) would drive her mad. "I 'ope that they are not long." She said, shifting her weight and wondering, yet again, if this was a good idea.

Something had stopped her from telling Minerva (and only her, she would not suffer the indignity of the others knowing) about what was going to happen when she started to spend more time with the seventh years that saw fit to return to complete their schooling and preparation for the wizarding exams. If she did cave, or have some success with this, she would have to confess - but she was so afraid of what would happen should she be rejected that she did not want to risk acting too soon.

Anxiety gripped her. The dread in the pit of her stomach had started to settle in and she clenched her fists as the day progressed, desperate and full of anticipation.

And then suddenly, it was time. It came not with a bang, but with a whimper. Fleur had gone down to the great hall when the train had first arrived in Hogsmeade, settling down into her chair to wait with a copy of the Evening Prophet to parse through as the students trickled in in twos and threes. That was the number of people who could fit onto those tiny, Thestral-drawn carriages. She lowered the newspaper with practice ease, creasing it in the middle of the pages so that she could peer thoughtfully over it at the students as they made their way to the long house tables.

She knew where the golden trio would sit - if they even came back at all (they would, they were on the class rosters. Fleur had checked. Twice.), and she had her eyes pinned on that spot.

"It's nice to finally have more people here," Edith, the new potions professor, said. She had been reading the paper over Fleur's shoulder since she'd arrived some ten minutes ago. Fleur found it rude and annoying, but she was polite enough, just this once, to allow it. It was rather boring waiting for them all to arrive.

"Mn." Fleur made a non-committal noise, finally closing the newspaper and folding it neatly. She tucked it into her robe pocket and tried, oh so desperately, to ignore the twisting and churning of her stomach. The veela was mad with excitement and she did not exactly share its sentiment.

She had never done well with nerves.

During the Triwizard tournament, before the second task, she had vomited several times, in front of her headmistress and peers. She had vowed to never again show weakness like that, but she wanted nothing more than to go vomit what little she had been able to eat today all over the flagstones in the antechamber she knew was right behind the door to her left.

Fleur glanced over at the door, wondering if she could get away to do just that. Something held her back, as she paused, mid-motion. Her eyes widened and the veela inside her preened. There, there was the one she had been waiting for her entire life. There, as though she had not been gone from this place for a year, a prefect badge across her chest. (Hannah Abbot was head girl, McGonagall could not play favorites). She looked happy to have returned, which made Fleur smile.

William's brother raised a hand to her, as did the boy who had saved the world (as they knew it at least). He flashed her a small, private smile as she nodded at them, her smile, she knew, was almost predatory.

She inhaled once, exhaled once, and waited for acknowledgment from the third member of the little entourage that had saved the world. She looked almost foolish in a school uniform when Fleur had seen her at her best, lavishly dressed for the party several weeks ago to celebrate the living while honoring (spitting on the memory) of their dead. Still, it suited her, the way it clung to her, and the tie was crooked and the sweater was only slightly too small, so it fit her in such a way that her entire body was there, should one chose to look for it.

Finally, a spark of recognition from her, Potter had elbowed her and jerked his head toward the head table to get it, but it was there all the same. Fleur licked her lips. Hermione Granger had met her eyes and had smiled.

Fleur's heart soared.


	4. Act One, Scene One, Part Two

**Golden Haze : Act One, Part Two  
**

**AN: **Here's the next bit, I hope you all enjoy it and continue to leave such wonderful feedback. I tried to respond to each review individually, even if it was just a few lines. They mean so much to me, and I love to have dialogue with my readers about what I am writing.

To everyone who added this story to their favorites or alert list, thank you. I hope you enjoy the next bit as much as I enjoyed writing it. ~ana

* * *

This had become a far more delicate situation than she had initially had anticipated. With her vision swimming in and out of golden hues (that she had not foreseen either happening or becoming a problem quite so soon.) she found herself struggling to pay attention to Minerva's welcoming speech. This was different than the one that she had heard Albus Dumbledore give all those years ago, but still as powerful and heartfelt. Minerva was different, her voice was different, but the tone was the same. Welcoming, sympathetic, comforting, and commanding. There were many words that Fleur found herself struggling to think of as she tried to shake her head ever so slightly without appearing rude. She had to clear her vision, for the outward signs of this golden haze were far more telling than the marked decrease in her ability to see.

To a non-veela, it was nothing, a lightening of the pupil really. It was odd looking, Fleur remembered from the first time that she had seen it in herself, jarring if you were not expecting it. She was not. Neither were any of her colleagues. If she did not get the constant glistening of gold flecks out of her vision, however, there were be far more marked problems. Physical problems that could get her arrested in this day an age. She was not a full-blooded veela, but the physical attributes to such a being were there, just beneath Fleur's careful veneer of control.

There were rumors, created by Rita Skeeter, but not entirely unfounded, about her family history. Everyone who she had gone to school with knew the tragic story of her grandmere and grandpere. It was, according to French popular culture, one of the greatest love stories ever told. Fleur thought it horrible, that story. It had ruined her family.

During the Great War when muggles and wizards alike had been so captivated with killing each other and themselves in the name of nationalism her grandpere had become quite a prominent figure in French wizarding politics. He had been a member of the opposition to Gindlewald, but had all but dropped from the public eye when a beautiful veela had effectively removed him from politics because in those days, such marriages and relationships were deeply frowned upon. Upon his disgrace, he had written pamphlets and credos, explaining how love between their races was such that it must be respected and endured - for it was unlike any other. He had become a laughing stock for his beliefs and his love.

Still, that woman was her grandmere, and she was a wonderful woman when Fleur chose to look past the fact that it was largely her fault that Fleur was now in the predicament that she was presently trying desperately to avoid. The haze, the golden haze of pure and unadulterated lust and longing. She had been told of it, long ago, when she was seventeen she had experienced it for the first time. Standing naked in front of the mirror after the first task of the Triwizard tournament, having just watched Harry Potter receive a close embrace from a girl who appeared to be his best friend. She had experienced a full shift then, and had flown into a fit of jealousy that she did not understand for many months after that. The haze was the first sign that her control was weakening, then would go her fingers, fusing into predatory talons and her body falling prey to lustful instincts that terrified her.

_Perhaps, if I explain it. Mais non... _She frowned deeply, and shook her head once more. The haze had lifted slighly and her vision was no longer as clouded. She could, perhaps, live like this. Her control had always been like iron, even back after that first shift when she had no idea why it had occurred.

Unlike the previous feasts that Fleur had attended at Hogwarts, they had eaten first. During the meal Harry Potter had come up to extend a warm welcome and a pleasant smile to her. She'd always liked him and he seemed a genuinely good man. She had rested her chin on her thumbs as they talked, bridging her fingers and almost pointedly showing him that she was no longer wearing William's ring. She wanted him to know, he was smart enough that (with time, boys are all quite slow) he would be able to detect the sham that was her marriage to Bill Weasley. He had grinned and told her that he was looking forward to classes with her - as he knew (and shockingly respected) her work at Gringotts as a curse breaker. He even knew of her mastery, and how she had no idea.

Fleur respected him for a great many reasons that had little to do with his own humility and lack of hubris. He was a good man, had saved her sister during the tournament, and had introduced her, perhaps unwittingly, to his friends. William's brother was stricken with her, but the girl, oh the girl. She was lost when she tried to think of words to describe the girl. When she told Harry Potter that she was also looking forward to the class, she had already begun to plot and to scheme. She had ideas, for the limited number of students who had returned for their seventh year, ideas to create a community within the four houses that had not been known up until that time.

William's brother and the girl had hung back, politely, despite their supposed familiarity. She had waved at them, her eyes downcast, the haze clouding them more prominently when in closer proximity to Hermione Granger. Her nails had begun to itch and pinched her leg until her vision cleared. How had she ever hidden this before? She frankly had no idea - she had slept in the same house, just one room over from Hermione for two summers, it had never been this bad.

Maybe she had finally moved past denial (or simply was not pretending any more).

After Minerva made her speech, the Golden Trio lingered, despite two of them being prefects there seemed to be no rush for them to leave the Great Hall and it's charmed ceiling of cloudless starry night. She watched them linger, as the first years followed their heads of houses out and way to the dormitories. They seemed to be reminiscing on painful subjects, as their conversation, along with the few others who lingered at the Gryffindor table was hushed and private.

Fleur longed to join them, to walk over, and to admit that she had been through all that they had and more during the war. She could not, however, it would be improper and not to mention rude. She feigned interest in the Evening Prophet once more, reading about the latest reforms that would put even more restrictions on her kind, had she not been a foreign citizen protected by marriage into an old family. It was depressing, and she sighed, deeply.

"What have they done now?" Minerva wanted to know, as if attracted by her sudden and sad utterance. Townsend had left with the first year Gryffindors and now there was no barrier between Fleur and the headmistress. It was not that Fleur wanted to avoid speaking to her newly found employer, she was simply unsure of what to say, what was safe and what was considered taboo. At Gringotts there was never this problem. Goblins were far simpler in that respect, and Fleur had always gotten along well with them, even if they really did not seem to like much of anyone.

She shook her head, carefully folding up the paper so that the article was face up and passed it along to the older woman who took it with a frown. "I was 'oping that this would not be a problem with him gone."

Minerva scanned the article quickly, her face falling as she did so. Too many people were being repressed now in the name of reform. It was probably not good to speak out publicly against such actions, but the Ministry was attempting to create parity so that a dark lord would never rise again (there would be another, there was always another). "You're protected by marriage, are you not?"

She shrugged, and realized that she had an opening - a chance to be completely honest. Minerva McGonagall was a good woman, and would protect her (to some extent) should the truth ever come out. "William and I have an arrangement, yes." It was vague, but not that it would go past the headmistress' attention. She did not want to be honest.

"I wondered as much." Minerva clucked her tongue and handed Fleur back her paper. "He was always rather..." She paused and searched for the word, but at Fleur's small nod realization dawned on her face. It was not her place to tell William's secrets, but there was nothing against implying, heavily. "Oh."

"It es for convenience only." Fleur said, tucking the newspaper back into her over-robe pocket and nodding to the headmistress. "Bonsoir." She made a point to cut directly past the Gryffindor table on her way out of the Great Hall. A part of her screamed to keep walking, to ignore them. (To sit, to chat, to entertain as only she knew how.)

To have a conversation with that girl.

But there was a rebellious streak in her and she remembered, quiet clearly, a story that William had told her about certain antics that Ronald and the others had gotten up to during their fifth year. It had involved Harry Potter teaching those of his year who wanted to learn Defense as they were not learning it in the classroom thanks to some toad of a woman who was now in Azkaban for collaboration with the Dark Lord. "Monsieur Potter," she began, pausing as she passed. "If you are considering restarting your defense club this year, let me know."

Potter opened and closed his mouth, his eyes narrowed behind his thick glasses. William's brother was staring openly at her, as many young men were wont to do when around her. She hated that, hated the constant attention. It was always there, a little annoyance like a cracked nail or a scuff on a boot that could not be buffered way. She had gotten used to it at school, but had been spoiled by working with goblins, who had little interest in humans - half magical creatures or not.

"Why do you ask?" There, she had spoken. (Elation.) Fleur turned ever so slightly to face Hermione Granger with a warm smile that she hoped was not too predatory. (It was.) "It was not exactly school-sanctioned last time..."

Hermione Granger, accusing her of bending the rules. There was a rich concept.

"I was suggesting because I am in the possession of more advanced texts than those that are available here from my mastery research," she kept her tone light and airy - but there was an edge to it that she could not eliminate. This was the veela, interacting with the one that was supposed to be the mate. (Denial. Again on her part. The veela was damn cocky and Fleur hated it.) "I 'ave to follow the curriculum as per the Ministry, and prepare you for your exams. This would be for personal betterment."

It was, honestly, a reasonable explanation. Fleur was astounded that she could think so clearly to lie like that on the fly. Being around her was confusing and frustrating, not to mention terrifying. She had to get away before too much longer, her control was slipping away.

The girl, well not really a girl any more, more of a (stunning) woman that Fleur wanted to admit; glared at her. This was a face she was used to, from spending summers with William's parents. She remembered, quite suddenly, that she had never gotten on well with the girl that was (probably.) her destined one. There was contempt on her part and condescension on Fleur's part. Their personalities were constantly at odds.

_This is a horrible idea._

"Sounds great Fleur - ah, Professor We-" A harsh look from her and he quickly corrected himself. "Delacour." Potter must have sensed the tension, as he smiled brightly at her. He was immune to the veela for whatever unfair reason; and always had been. Fleur had wondered about him, but he seemed very attached to William's younger sister and to that end, she respected him. It was not often that a man could look at her and not want her. It was refreshing.

"Excellent," She smiled brightly at all of them, her vision was starting to cloud once again. She clapped her hands together, left hand (ringless hand) facing Hermione. "Mademoiselle Granger, if you would come by my office sometime tomorrow, I will find you the appropriate texts."

A move, daring as it was, but important. She had to speak to her alone - if to smooth out whatever contempt Hermione still had for her.

The girl let out an exasperated sigh and nodded reluctantly. She would not meet Fleur's eyes and seemed rather preoccupied with toying at the hem of her robes. (Please look at me, you are so beautiful.)

"When is your free period?" She asked eventually.

"After lunch." Fleur responded evenly, knowing that they were now attracting stares.

"Alright."


	5. Act One, Scene Change One, Interlude

**Golden Haze: Scene Change: Interlude One**

**AN: **It has been brought to my attention that while this story is told primarily from Fleur's POV, that a lot of other characters in this story could use a voice. Here is one of them.

Thanks to shetan83 for helping me with this part too. :3

* * *

Gabrielle Delacour, twelve years old and second year student at Beauxbatons Magical Academy, sat in a small alcove in the school's library, hurriedly penning a letter before nine-thirty curfew. She wrote in messy French, half-tainted with crass, angry slang that betrayed her hurt and anger at the addressee.

_Fleur - _

(None of this 'my dear sister' or 'elder sister' crap, her sister did not deserve it now.)

_William wrote Mother on Tuesday. I read the letter when she wasn't looking. You took a job at Hogwarts? I thought you said that job was cursed and that no one stayed for longer than a year. Why did I have to find out from him? Why didn't you think that something like this wasn't important enough to tell us? William obviously did._

_Does this mean that you're finally going to stop ignoring what's so clearly before your eyes? Is she even there? Are you still hiding from who you are?_

_Mother doesn't understand it. She and Papa fight about you all the time. She thinks you're an idiot - a fool for trying to be noble about a love that you can't deny. Does this mean that I was right about you all along? I've always thought you were kind of an airhead._

_But really Fleur, you're a mess and terrible at hiding it._

Gabrielle paused, thinking of the gravity of her words. She did not want to hurt her sister, but a harsh reality check was obviously needed or her sister was probably never going to understand how gravely she was harming all of those around her. Not even William, the young man who she had clearly married out of convenience (and probably protection from the barbaric laws of the English Ministry) deserved what she was obviously putting him through.

_How did you become so selfish, sister? Why do you deny who you are? It's in your very breath, as Grandmere says, but you deny it. You ignore owls and floo calls from me, Mother, and Grandmere – I hate it. Please talk to me. _

_Mother says that it's stupid to dismiss your whole family like this - just because you're the one who's acting like an idiot. They only recently started to explain this to me, but even I can see. Fleur, you can't deny this love. _

_When Mother and our aunts were teaching me about our heritage, they said that you and the veela are one and the same. Mother says you've separated your consciousness so completely that they're afraid that you can never be one with yourself again. Stop denying yourself so that I can have my sister back. Grandmere has done so much for you, you're her favorite grandchild. (By the way, she hates me in comparison to you, and is constantly comparing us. Please tell her to stop, because I hate hearing about how I'll never measure up.)_

She picked her words carefully here, trying to sound as much like her mother and grandmother as possible. She wanted her sister to know that she was not the only one who was being hurt by Fleur's flat-out refusal to do what was right for own happiness.

_Since I'm afraid that you're going to drown yourself in self-pity even though it's your own fault, please write me back. I want to know what it's like to actually teach at a school as important as Hogwarts. Are the ghosts still the same? Are there any new passageways that you've discovered?_

Gabrielle paused.

_Is she even there?_ The question was a quiet one, but there all the same. If she was right, and the one that Fleur loved was indeed back at that school, then maybe things could get better and her family life could return to normal.

Maybe then Fleur would stop denying her heritage altogether and embrace it.

She signed the letter, _your loving sister_ and folded it neatly. She would send it on her way to her dormitory when she was done with her essay. Fleur would get it in the morning and hopefully have the good sense to respond promptly.


	6. Act One, Scene Two

**Golden Haze: Act One, Scene Two  
**

**AN: **Thanks so much everyone for your kind words with regards to this story. I'm sorry that it took so long to get to some of the more interesting aspects of this story - as a consequence, this chapter is rather... long in comparison to the others.

Superdooper thanks to Shetan83 for the wonderful beta.

Soundtrack to the story: Delerium, Pink Martini and Goldfrapp.

* * *

The first morning of classes had been rather uneventful. She taught well, better than she expected, and the students seemed to like her. She had a command of the subject matter that appeared refreshing compared to the previous year. (She also was not a Death Eater with a penchant for torture in the form of 'lessons'.) After lunch on Monday, Fleur sat perched on the edge of her desk, her eyes locked on the clock and a stack of books beside her. This was not her most clever of ruses. She was worried that Hermione would not show up. She had not appeared all that amused at Fleur's request (demand) to see her alone.

Fleur exhaled quietly, twirling her wand expertly between her fingers. She was anxious. She should not have done this – she was not mentally prepared to do this. She set her wand down, her brow furrowed in thought. Was doing this the sort of thing that her mother would approve of? Gabrielle's words still rang in her head as she thought about how hurt and betrayed her sister probably felt that Fleur was so expertly denying everything that defined them as people.

Gabrielle was too young to understand, as she had been too young to really understand what was happening during the Triwizard Tournament when Fleur's control had started to slip for the first time. Fleur had flown into fits of jealous rage over Viktor Krum of all people, because he was able to touch the girl that she so longed for. She had tried to understand it herself, but the stress of the tournament had pushed the thoughts from her mind. She hated the fact that she was so powerless against whatever it was that pushed her into these rages.

_I can do this._ She thought resolutely as she glanced at the stack of books next to her. She had brought them down with her that morning, stacking them neatly on the corner of her desk, not really caring that these were the books that she had used for her mastery – that she'd written all over the insides in a bid for comprehension of some of the dense material contained within. She did not want them to think her an airhead after all, but her intelligence was a closely guarded secret that few really knew about her. To most, she was just the part-veela girl, stunningly beautiful and obviously there due to that alone.

Fleur smoothed her tunic over her pants, pulling it further down almost self-consciously. Her sensible boots (heels belonged on far less practical footwear) tapped against the side of her desk as she swung her legs back and forth, waiting. This was the point, the moment when one was bordering on both late and early, the moment when the most punctual people in the world would arrive in a flurry of motion.

There was a knock on her classroom door.

She swallowed (she was a nervous wreck.) and hopped off the desk with the practiced ease of one who spent far too much time perched on such locations. The door opened before she could get there to do it herself, and the curly-haired head of Hermione Granger peered around it, dark eyes full of inquiry and question.

Fleur plastered what she hoped was a warm smile on her face and shoved her hands deep into her over-robe pockets, suddenly far nervous than she had been before. "I 'ave been expecting you." She said, her accent creeping into her voice a bit more than it usually did after so many years of practice (pretending, like she did in so many aspects of her life).

Hermione's school robes were wrapped tightly around her per the school's requirements, but her school tie was loose around her neck and the top two buttons on her shirt were undone. This was their final year in school after all. They were allowed, Fleur reasoned, to be lax with the dress code. (I want to reel you in by that tie and kiss you senseless). Hermione looked uncomfortable and sullen, but as though she was trying (and perhaps failing) to remain civil. "Why did you ask me to come? Why not Harry or Ron?"

_Why have you always hated me?_

Her hands clenched angrily in her pockets at the question, and Fleur bit her lip to keep from retorting angrily. She did not think that she would have to defend her actions to Hermione Granger of all people. She was allowed to do whatever she wanted (within reason, within what was socially acceptable). This girl, this beautiful girl, was forever driving her to the point of complete and utter confusion and frustration.

If she were to do this correctly, she would have to take this slowly, to not rise to the oh-so-obvious bait that was laid before her. Verbal sparring matches were what girls still in school and diametrically opposed to each other's existence did. Now she was in a position of authority, and Hermione Granger commanded a respect about her that was difficult to put into words.

She simply was. Everyone knew her to be brilliant, powerful and unafraid of her power. Fleur was one of the few people (she wished she was the only one) to know that Hermione Granger hated the fame and to-do about the accomplishments that she and the others had managed to achieve. Her hubris was non-existent, and if anything it seemed as though she hated the idea that she was now nearly as famous as her best friend.

Fleur's outer-robe billowed out rather spectacularly as she moved back across the room, enticing the brown-haired girl further into her classroom. (Come into my chamber, oh beautiful one.) She settled herself back at her place on the edge of her desk, crossing her ankles and meeting Hermione's expectant stare head on. The brown-haired girl had stepped into the classroom and was now standing with her hand on the door knob as if unsure whether or not to close it behind her. At Fleur's curt nod, Hermione closed it with a snap.

Tapping her chin with her finger, Fleur tried to appear as mysterious as possible. She had done this many times before, and she liked to think of it as one of her many skills learned through years of speaking with double-meanings and giving back-handed compliments at Beauxbatons. "Perhaps I was wanting to speak to you?" she said at length. She shrugged broadly. "Perhaps not."

There was an air of disinterest around her, so much so that Fleur was tempted to inspect her nails to fully completely the image of complete boredom. She knew that this was driving the girl before her mad with curiosity, with barely-contained interest. There was a nervous tick in her fingers, and she was chewing (adorably) on her lip as she apparently contemplated a response.

"Then why?" Hermione asked, folding her arms across her chest and looking so adorably put-out and confused that Fleur longed to reach out and touch her, to kiss her nose and call her adorable pet names that had no right to exist in any language that Fleur spoke. It was intoxicating, the extremes that simply being around this girl were able to produce. Her vision was already tinted gold, and they had not even truly started to speak to each other yet.

_This is going to prove a lot harder than I had initially thought._ Fleur thought of Gabrielle's words, and of how she had shut everyone in her support network out for so long. She did not know how to mend those bridges now, but the confusion and the haze were going to prove impossible to deal with if she did not find some relief soon.

Fleur leaned back on her palms, staring at Hermione through half-lidded eyes. There was no sense in beating around the bush now, at least not exactly. "You interest me. You who are smart enough to take your tests now and pass with flying colors chose to come back here." She paused, as if searching for the right words. (Dramatic effect). "Why is this?"

Hermione looked as though she had not honestly thought about it that much. She bit her lip, nervously looking anywhere but Fleur. Again, she looked so impossibly adorable that Fleur felt her breath leave her. There was a beauty, an enchanting aspect to this girl that she had somehow never noticed before. Now that they could speak as adults and not as petty children, there might be a chance for something more from the two of them. "I dunno. I wanted to finish what I'd started, I guess."

Fleur liked to think that they were far more similar than they were different, the two of them.

"That is a good endeavor." She said seriously. It was fun, just talking, with no animosity. To give a compliment without fear of reprimand or repercussions.

_Maybe I was a fool for staying away for so long_, Fleur thought bitterly. She knew that she had not wanted to be controlled by the veela inside of her, and that her control right now was pitiful as she'd been denying herself for so long. She hated it, hated this whole situation, but to speak to Hermione Granger, to smile at her brightly and to flatter her with words pulled Fleur's soul out of the doldrums of despair where it had been languishing since she had first left England after the Triwizard Tournament.

"Why do you ask, Professor?" Hermione asked. She set her bag down on the desk, and began to inspect the books that Fleur had set out for her.

_When did she cross the room?_ Fleur's thoughts, in rapid, panicked French, flew through her head. The golden haze was clouding her judgment and her senses - rendering her nearly useless. _She is so close now. I could reach out - I could touch her._

(I cannot. It is too soon.)

"A mere curiosity, 'ermione." Fleur made a point of saying Hermione's name as though she were speaking French, rolling the letters off her tongue with a practiced ease that made her long for the warm waters of the Mediterranean Sea where her parents lived. Life there was far less complicated than it was here. She looked at Hermione sideways, a sly (predatory) smile crossing her face. "One as brilliant as yourself does not come along every day."

She blushed. (Small victories.) "I – Well, thank you."

Hermione busied herself with her continued inspection of the books that Fleur was loaning her, carefully putting each of them into her bag after looking them over. She was probably noting the condition, Fleur realized - so that she could return them in the same shape she'd received them in.

How… considerate. The veela was prowling inside Fleur's consciousness, pushing against her control, begging her to become a little more lax. If she were to let the veela out, the haze would finally dissipate once and for all. Actions would be taken, and maybe her life would return to some semblance of normal.

She could never be normal. "I am merely speaking the truth, Mademoiselle Granger." Her tone was even, polite, but still complimentary.

The flush on Hermione's cheeks became darker, and she ducked her head, obscuring it behind her untamable hair. (Small victories.)

Pause, silence. It was comfortable, and yet awkward at the same time. Fleur started to wonder if there was something else that she should say.

"Can I ask you something?" Hermione had shoved the books more completely into her bag now, and had clasped the buckles closed with such ease that Fleur suspected that she had charmed her bag to expand to accommodate anything that she chose to put into it. An impressive bit of magic for someone still in school, really. Fleur had yet to master that particular spell. Her mother was quite good at it, and Fleur had yet to find cause to use it without her mother there to help her as she was no longer moving to and from school in only a few suitcases (what a dreadful lack of space that was) every year.

She had had Molly Weasley help her when she moved in with Bill. Her mother had refused to speak to her that day. She still remembered the look of utter horror and betrayal on her face when Fleur had told her that she was going to marry him for convenience and protection from harsher and harsher laws. The memory [before, it sounded like the laws burned brightly] still burned brightly in Fleur's mind whenever she closed her eyes.

She missed being able to speak to her mother so freely. Now their conversations were full of disapproval and miscommunication. Fleur hated it.

She knew that answering Hermione's question would probably start to move her towards rebuilding a lot of the relationships that she'd destroyed in her pursuit of being left alone with her misery. At least, to some extent, William had understood her frustration. Especially after the incident that had begun his descent into lycanthropy, he had been nothing but understanding and forgiving of her rigid positions on such things.

The war was over now though. They were alone with their own problems and issues. The fate of the world no longer rested on their shoulders. It was a time to do things for themselves. William had told her that before she had boarded the train for Hogwarts - he was going to try, and she had to try too. Taking the job was trying enough for Fleur. The haze was enough to fill her with dread and fear and make her want to let go completely.

Small steps. She did not have the Gryffindor courage that the men and women whom she had surrounded herself when she came to England did. She was not a coward, but she lacked a certain… bravado that the others possessed effortlessly. Fleur met Hermione's expectant stare evenly. "Anything."

Probably a bad idea. Sometimes Fleur cursed the fact that she was unafraid of the consequences of her actions when it came to Hermione Granger. She would laugh in the face of adversity and act like just like a foolish Gryffindor at the drop of a hat, and yet regret her actions almost instantly.

Still, she had given her word, she would try to answer the question.

Hermione bit her lip, as if debating within her own head if this was a good idea or not. (Probably not.) "Why did you marry Bill?" She'd seen it. She looked as though she wanted to say more, but held her tongue as carefully as she could – afraid of what might happen should she continue. Fleur thought her uncertainty rather out of character (and adorable). "You two always seemed more like friends."

An opening. A question she really was not prepared to answer, especially not to this girl, not now. It was too soon, far too soon for these sorts of conversations. Fleur leaned forward, her weight now off of her hands as she clasped them in her lap. She did not look at Hermione, she did not think that she could trust her face to not betray the emotions she knew were playing across it. "We both are serving a purpose for the other." Fleur sighed, carefully steeling her features before turning to look at Hermione. It was hard to talk to people about this (poor decision) situation, and the confused look on Hermione's face seemed to illustrate why Fleur hated herself for agreeing to this ruse.

"He had 'oped that it would make Molly happy. I am not so sure that it has. Rather like yourself and Monsieur Potter." A close female friend and a boy who was obviously seeing someone else but for whatever reason wanted to keep that relationship quiet. Fleur often wondered why they never bothered to correct the rumors in the press. It was usually Hermione and Harry were a matched made in heaven, or Hermione and Ronald were going to get married in a large public wedding that the entire wizarding world was invited to. The speculation in the gossip section of the newspaper was horrific but still good for a few laughs now and again. Still, it hurt her that they were so comfortable with the situation that allowing it to perpetuate itself was easier than correcting the story. Fleur understood that situation well, even if William had yet to take step to actually force her to function as a – what was the English expression – a beard. It was only a matter of time, since William was finally starting to venture out into the community and to actually meet people like him. For now, they were keeping with the pretend wonderful marriage, even if the love was truly familial and there was no underlying attraction between the two of them.

Realization dawned on Hermione's face and she shook her head ever so slightly before responding brightly. "Oh. Harry and I are just friends though."

"I know." Well obviously. Fleur had always thought it rather adorable how in love Harry Potter was with William's younger sister. She would never tell anyone, however, as she was not in the best graces of the youngest Weasley.

"I don't think you and Bill getting married has made the Weasleys very happy either," Hermione sighed. She picked up her book bag and set it down on the floor, its strap falling in a neat circle as she leaned against the side of the desk next to Fleur.

The closeness was intoxicating. Fleur could smell her, smell the scent of her shampoo, of her body. She wanted a closer look, a more thorough inspection. She wanted to taste every inch of that body.

(Breathe. It is too soon.) Gold flecks swam across her vision.

"My family is not happy with it also." She was fishing for the question now, but at Hermione's polite silence, she continued. "They are veela, at least in some part, and do not understand the necessity of a complex life sometimes. To them, there is love, there is family and there is death. That is all."

(I miss my family, Hermione. Please help me make this better. Please help me fix this.)

There was a pause in their conversation, but Hermione's intelligence and intellectual curiosity apparently won out the battle over common decency and politeness that had been raging within the brown-haired woman. "Bill is not your destined one then?" So she knew about her people. Perhaps hints not the size of anvils were in order.

"'ow perceptive of you. I had not thought anyone would notice." Fleur clapped her hands together in a sarcastic gesture of exclamation. It was as though a huge weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She hoped that this would not make it back to Ronald and Ginerva, but she knew there was a big chance that it would. She just hoped the fallout would not be too bad. "William and I are a … how is it put… a means to an end."

"That's not very healthy of you." Hermione crossed her arms and frowned.

"I know." Fleur responded quickly, desperate to get the confused and upset look off of Hermione's face. She hated that look, and Hermione had been wearing it since she was fourteen when around Fleur. She had such a beautiful smile, Fleur wished that she could get to see it for her and only her. "I hate it, you know?" She sighed then, loud and long. "I hate that I cannot love freely like a human can. Mine is restricted to one."

Hermione stared, a question clearly on her lips, but she apparently was too polite to ask.

Fleur decided to indulge her just this once. Usually the fun was in forcing someone to ask the uncomfortable questions, but she did not think that it would go over well if she attempted to be coy with the answer to Hermione's unspoken question. This was going so well - so much better than she had ever anticipated. She threw caution into the wind and held up her hand, looking at thoughtfully. It looked so normal, but there was power beneath it. She knew it - Hermione knew it. A veela was not something to be trifled with. "A veela is a sexual being, no? But they are unable to love but once, and it is a great love."

"Why are you telling me this, Professor?" She scowled, confusion in her face. Fleur thought she was beautiful even in her anger, but she hated the scowl. She had to make the scowl go away.

(Because I think I fell in love with you when I was seventeen, and I am twenty one now. Because you are so beautiful my heart aches. Because all I want is for you to see me for me, and not some notion your fourteen-year-old mind created.)

She reached out, touching Hermione's cheek with the faintest brush of well-calloused finger pads. "So that you will stop scowling at me. It does not suit your beautiful face."

A gentle touch, Fleur indulged herself in the moment through her clouded vision. Hermione's skin was so soft under her featherlight fingers.

Suddenly, the golden tinge around Hermione had completely vanished. She backed away from Fleur, pushing away from the desk and gathering up her bag in one fluid motion. "I… I have to go." Hermione said hurriedly, pulling her bag across her chest in a practiced movement. "Thank you for the books."

And then, quite unexpectedly (she could not have expected anything more, really), Fleur Delacour was alone in her classroom with a pain in her heart that she could not explain in words. "Merde."


	7. Act One, Scene Three

**Golden Haze: Act One, Scene Three  
**

**AN: **Another long chapter. I got a review saying that there was very little action in the story as of yet. As a writer, I tend to write more cerebral stories, as dialogue is at times difficult for me. This chapter has a lot of both. Enjoy.

Shetan83, the wonderful and amazing beta that she is, has pointed out to me that while we go back to and correct the earlier chapters to add clarification and ect. that I have neglected to tell you all about it. So yeah, if you want to re-read, there are some changes in the earlier chapters.

Shetan83 beta'ed this to death. It is much better now.

Soundtrack to the story: Goldfrapp, Telepopmusik and Sia

* * *

One night after a particularly grueling evening out with some of her fellow mastery students, Fleur Delacour had taken out one of the many books she had been studying on magical creatures and corrected the section on veela. She had been somewhat drunk and rather depressed at the time, and the comments in sarcastic, biting French remained there to this day, a testament to how much she had hated that time in her life. The awkward, transitional time when she did not know who she was or what she had wanted to do with her life still stood out to her as a stark reminder of what happened when she did not do things for herself.

She had been pushed, after her poor showing in the Triwizard Tournament, to complete her education in order to salvage what was left of her reputation. She had embarrassed herself, her family name, and the school in finishing dead last in that tournament. Her family said that it did not matter, but Fleur was no fool. She saw the way that her classmates had looked at her upon her return to Beauxbatons, and she vowed to never be that weak, that incompetent, ever again.

In her moment of weakness the previous afternoon, Fleur had realized that she had… perhaps accidentally, but probably on purpose, put that book into the stack that she had loaned to Harry Potter and his friends. She had been embarrassed then, and had thought to ask for it back, to say that she had mistaken it for another. There was a problem with that though, and the veela inside of her held her back as she watched them with sick horror from a half-hidden alcove in the library, perusing her offering with interested eyes.

_I will never live this down._ (You want them to know.) Granted, she had been drunk when she wrote all over her book, and the section had been very wrong about the finer points of veela physique and habits. Not to mention the psychological toll that it took on a person to have the blood in them, to be completely and totally sexually inept until that one person comes along. The public had to know, her drunken mind had thought at the time, and now Hermione Granger was going to know far more about being at least part veela than Fleur had ever wanted to share with her.

There was no denying it; Fleur Delacour was rather dreading her final class of the day. The seventh year NEWT preparation class was on Tuesdays and Thursdays at the end of the day for a solid two-hour long block. Fleur liked the length, for it would give her a chance to really flesh out the knowledge that her students had before they left to take the exam and to graduate into the real world. As it was on the second day, and last of her classes, by the time that students began to file into the room, Fleur could barely contain the butterflies in her stomach. This was the class that she had come to the school to teach, but it was the one that she feared the most.

She sat behind her desk, a quill in her hand as she waited for everyone to arrive. She had been working on a response to Gabrielle for two days now and still was dissatisfied with how it sounded. She did not want to say too much, to get her sister's hopes up, but she did want to tell her that she was hoping that she was moving towards a solution to her problem.

The class filled up in twos and threes. Harry Potter had arrived fairly early and by himself. He made a point of pulling a book out of his school bag and sitting towards the back. He wanted to be left alone, Fleur realized, not really blaming him. He had never seemed the type to enjoy the limelight, and now it was trained on him more than ever.

There were very few seventh-year Slytherins that had returned, two boys and three girls. They came in as a group, led by the tall blond boy that Fleur dimly remembered as being a Malfoy. (They all looked the same and probably had some veela blood in them, as Draco Malfoy had been one of the few boys that she had ever met that had been completely and totally immune to her veela blood.) The frown that had pulled across his pointed face turned upward ever so slightly as he looked at her, before settling down to sit near but not too close to Harry Potter.

Fleur smiled back at him politely. It was strange that he was sitting near Harry Potter, as they clearly did not get on very well. Harry had huffed and adjusted himself in his seat, pushing his chair back and shoving the book he was reading up against his knees. He did not look at the blond-haired boy, but there was a quiet sort of companionship between the two of them – a mutual respect that had not been there even a year ago. Fleur wondered what had happened during the war to make them finally at peace with each other.

The final students trickled in; William's brother came in with Neville Longbottom in tow. They were deep in discussion about something, but quietly took their seats near the front of the class – Hermione had trailed in after them, apparently consulting an arithmancy assignment she'd been given. The numbers and runes that were drawn across the top of the page made Fleur's head hurt. She had always had to work quite hard in that class in school – and while she was decent at the subject, it had always been one of her worst in school. She'd only managed an E on her OWL for it, and the subject was still sore between herself and her mother.

Fleur raised her quill and counted the people in the room quickly. There, fifteen – all who had returned were accounted for. She stood up, her chair scraping against the floor as she did. She'd chosen, perhaps foolishly, to wear heels that morning. They clicked on the floor as she moved around to stand in front of the desk, her hands clasped behind her back.

Taking a deep breath, Fleur began to speak as she felt fifteen pairs of eyes train onto her every move. "Bienvenue." She paused, waiting for silence to completely fall in the room. "Welcome to Defense Against the Dark Arts. As you are all in your final year here, I assume you understand how this works? There is a joke that this position is cursed."

Gentle, quiet, nervous laughter. Fleur scanned the room with curious eyes. At least she could make them laugh. That was something, was it not? It was odd that laughter could be so welcoming, but Fleur rather liked it.

"Please, I know that all of you must at least remember your fourth year here at 'ogwarts? I must admit, my performance as a champion left much to be desired, but I do remember some of your faces, which is something, is it not?" In truth, this had been the year that she had most liked at Hogwarts; the upper classmen had been far too interested in cheering for Cedric Diggory and Hogwarts as a whole to actually bother to interact with the students from the other schools very much. The (then) fourth years had been far more open than their elder peers and had at least been welcoming. The younger students that had been given permission to come on the year-long exchange to Hogwarts had, for the most part, made great friends with their classmates.

Fleur's outer-robe, midnight blue with faint silver embroidery, swished around her ankles as she paced in front of her desk. Pacing was a nervous habit of hers, but she supposed it made her look like a better teacher and not a just-barely-out-of-school twenty-one year old. "My name is Fleur Delacour. I studied at Beauxbatons and then completed a mastery certificate in spell creation in Paris before taking a position at Gringotts as a curse breaker." She hated sharing her life story, but when teaching those who were so close to her in age it seemed like it was better to impress them with her schooling (false bravado, again) than to let it show that she wasn't nearly as qualified for the job as clearly Minerva and the other professors at the school truly felt she was. She was too young, too inexperienced, a horrible teacher.

(Confidence. If you don't have it, fake it.)

She folded her arms across her chest and paused in her pacing. "I have no interest in the relationships and preconceived notions that you are having about each other in this class. I am here to foster what I 'ope will be a community of equality and learning. You are here to learn. This is optional schooling now." She was here to teach them, even if it was all an elaborate ruse in the end. She remembered the petty house rivalries from her time at Hogwarts and she wanted no part in that. It was what had started the war, to some extent. There was no unity in the school, and Fleur hated it.

(I will change this.) She did not know why she felt so compelled to correct a situation that was so completely out of her control, but she had seen how those petty rivalries had carried into the real world with William's father and brothers (and even William himself, although he made a concentrated effort to not act like a complete imbecile around former school rivals most of the time.) Fleur had sighed and not really understood when the house rivalries of Hogwarts had been explained to her when she had first come to Hogwarts by a very eager fifth-year Ravenclaw student who had a rudimentary grasp on the French language from primary school. Now she still did not understand it, but it seemed like there was a general consensus from many of the professors that it was a marked problem and they had to endeavor as best they could to fix it.

"Any questions?" The class was silent, staring at her with wide, expectant eyes. She had been avoiding really looking at them, hating how they all seemed too captivated with her. It was the veela, not her, that they were attracted to – and until they grew used to (and to some extent immune to) that aspect of her character that Fleur hated so, it would be difficult to really teach them much of anything. "Excellent. As I do not know any of you very well, I was thinking that we could spend some time getting to know each other a little better, yes?"

She smiled brightly at them, and leaned against the front of her desk, scanning the room. She looked down, as if assessing the lamentable state of her fingernails (they needed to be painted, for they were chipped and in poor condition. Fleur longed for a nail file). "'ow many of you are considering continuing education after 'ogwarts?" she asked at length.

This was an important curiosity of many professors who taught NEWT-level classes. There was not a lot of talk at Hogwarts (or other schools) of continuing magical education because there was simply a push to get the students a basic education and to get them out into the real world. They could pursue that sort of further professionalism on their own time.

Fleur hated that attitude, but she smiled when several hands rose. This was promising.

"Yes, Monseiur…?" Play it safe, pretend to not remember their names. She pointed to the brown-haired boy who had come in with Ronald Weasley.

"Longbottom, ma'am." Fleur smiled kindly at him and nodded expectedly. She remembered him as an unsung hero of the battle for Hogwarts, leading a resistance within the school against the Death Eathers who had controlled it. The Herbology professor, Sprout she had said her name was, had boasted that he was by far her best student and to forgive him if he was ever late to her class as the NEWT-level Herbology class was right before Fleur's class. "I was planning on studying Herbology in Brazil at the horticulture school there."

Fleur had known students at Beauxbatons who had tried to get into that school and had not succeeded. He spoke as though he already had been accepted. If Sprout's boasting was any indication of his skill, he probably had. Impressive.

She'd noticed that Draco Malfoy, from the back of the classroom had tentatively raised his hand when she had first asked the question. He had put it down hurriedly, but she had seen it and he would not shy away from actually speaking in her class. She stared at him evenly, as if daring him to risk not answering her. "'ow about you, Monsieur Malfoy?"

He sighed, obviously exasperated that she had called on him. She supposed that he knew of her marriage, as the Malfoys were very aware of what was happening in the wizarding social scene. So his exasperation might have come from the fact that she was, however loosely, connected to the Weasley family. Fleur hoped not, for it would make their relationship as Professor-Student far more difficult to forge. "Potions and Herbology," he said quietly, bridging his fingers in front of him and not looking at her. Fleur hated his attitude instantly.

"Any particular reason as to why?" She ventured, trying to continue to the conversation

He shrugged, still refusing to look at her.

(Pick your battles, Fleur.)

"Well, I am sure that you 'ave your reasons." Obviously he was uninterested in continuing the conversation. She would endeavor to get him to come out of his shell within the next few weeks. She had to at least make an effort. She clasped her hands together and met the eyes of the girl that she had been avoiding looking at since the start of class. Her vision, which had been blissfully clear up until that point, became tinted gold.

She was getting sick of this. The best remedy that she could think of was to spell her vision clear and pray that she figured out a solution that did not involve veela coupling with Hermione Granger. It was an act that she did not want to inflict (would not have minded) on anyone as the powerful magic that was involved was irreversible and terrifying for any non-veela to even begin to comprehend.

This was probably why the veela was so fixated on her, though. Fleur had reasoned that it was Hermione's intellect, and nothing more, that attracted the veela too her. (Lies.) She was smart enough to comprehend what Fleur would be asking of her, should Fleur's resolve ever falter. "What about you, Mademoiselle Granger? What do you want to study?"

Hermione Granger folded her hands neatly across her desk, resting them primly on top of a book that Fleur recognized and knew well. Her stomach sank. "Magical Creatures," she said with a bright smile.

Had she not been standing in front of a class of students who expected her to remain professional at all costs, Fleur Delacour would have groaned. Loudly.

* * *

The second seventh year class of the year was going much more smoothly than the first one had gone. There was a lot less awkwardness as the students had obviously been forced to interact with each other a lot more. Fleur Delacour was grateful for that fact as she paced up and down the rows of seats in her classroom.

"Tell me, Monsieur Malfoy," she asked, continuing her line of thought. He was the best one to answer this question, as he would not be afraid to admit the answer she was looking for. She hoped that he did not think that she was singling him out because she knew his name and because of his family history – she was not. "What is the inherent problem with Defense Against the Dark Arts?"

He looked bored, but answered as though he was actually engaged in the conversation. It was a step, albeit a small one, in the right direction. "One has to know what one is defending against, in order to properly defend one's self."

"There are other things, but yes, that is correct." Fleur nodded. There were other differences that she would teach them in time, but for now she wanted to drive home the point that one could not defend against what one did not know.

She had reached the front of the classroom where she stopped, tapping her wand on her thigh as she spoke. It was a nervous habit that she had developed in school a long time ago. When she was in her first year and not all that good with magic, she had set her skirt on fire doing it – but that was long ago and now she merely tapped out of nervousness, and as a way to direct her line of thinking. "Today I was thinking that I would test your spell-work and your skills so that I can assess what I will be needing to teach you." She raised her wand, preparing to clear the desks off to either side of the room. "Gather at the front of the classroom if you please."

The students looked intrigued (Harry Potter), annoyed (a Slytherin girl named Pansy who rather looked like a toy breed of dog), or flat out terrified (one of the Hufflepuffs whose name Fleur had yet to remember) as they gathered at the front of the classroom. They shoved their bags into the nooks and crannies of the cleared desks, and most had their wands out and at the ready.

Fleur walked to the far end of the classroom and nodded to the first student who stepped forward – a Ravenclaw who she remembered from her seventh year in school. He looked resolute and prepared – but not entirely sure what to do. Had they no dueling classes before the NEWT-level in this school? The idea horrified Fleur.

"To begin any duel," Fleur said quietly, bobbing her head and shoulders in a slight bow, "one must bow." And with that statement, the evaluation process began in earnest.

Harry Potter was as good as Fleur had expected. They traded spells and explosions for several minutes before Fleur realized that he was both holding back and toying with her ability. She had not yielded – a professor never does to a student – but rather had agreed to the impasse that they seemed to have reached. There were things that he could still learn, however, and that brightened Fleur's spirits. Potter's spellwork had a belligerent style that lacked finesse. She could teach him that, and it would probably be for the better. Draco Malfoy knew curses that even Fleur did not know, but lacked in actual defensive skills. Neville Longbottom was by far the most formal and obviously classically trained duelist, holding his own with her for several minutes before she relented against his surprisingly good battle strategy. She only wanted to test their skills, not actually fight them to the death.

Some of the Slytherins looked apprehensive to be dueling their professor and obviously held back. Most of the Hufflepuffs were decently skilled if a bit foolish in their attack, and the Ravenclaws clearly knew the theory behind their spells but lacked real-world application. William's brother was also very good at dueling, but he was far more a strategist than anything else. He looked for weaknesses and played the duel like a game of chess. There was thought behind each of his attacks, no matter how little time elapsed between them, and they were built upon what he obviously had observed of her dueling style up until his turn. She'd have to teach strategy at some point, and he could probably help her. The rest of the Gryffindors were of various skill levels – but all were quite good for their rather lamentable education in the subject up until that point.

Finally, and not for lack of trying, Fleur stood on the opposite side of the classroom as Hermione Granger. She knew Hermione's skill; there was no point in doing this. And yet, she had to keep up appearances. She bowed, ever so slightly, as was good form.

Across the room, Hermione did the same.

Fleur stood, watching, waiting. She did not think that it would be wise to take the first move in such a fight. (Coward.)

A razor-sharp flash of light flew by her face, a highly efficient cutting curse Fleur's mind realized in the heat of the moment, her body leaning backwards to dodge the spell as she cast her own in response. An ice-based spell that would effectively create a small puddle of water around the opponent's feet and then immobilize them in a combination of freezing and sticking spells. The spell was advanced and largely unused outside of more intimate dueling clubs in Paris – Fleur reasoned it would buy her a moment to erect a protection spell. (To brace herself for the next attack.)

The veela did not understand, and the questions were constantly pushing against her consciousness as Fleur cast several protection charms in short, non-verbal succession. From what she could gather, Hermione had just done the same, even though she had conjured a small blue flame and was currently holding it to the bottom of the foot that was still stuck to the ground in Fleur's expertly placed puddle of water.

"_Reducto_," she whispered, pointing her wand almost lazily at the flame in Hermione's hand. The flame vanished, and Fleur sent a quick, non-verbal cutting curse right after it with a downward jerk of her wand.

Hermione reached down and undid the strap across the flat she was wearing in one motion and dived out of the way of the cutting curse. It hit the ground and left a deep gash in the flagstone where it landed. Couched behind a desk, Hermione smiled triumphantly at Fleur, her shoe was still stuck to the floor, but she had managed to get away from Fleur's trap.

_Clever girl._

Suddenly, the ground underneath her feet was moving, jerking back and forth as if it was trying to buck Fleur off of it. She set her jaw, her hair flying every which way as she spun, moving to a different spot on floor. Finally she found one that was not shaking – and she paused a moment to see what Hermione was doing before going on the offensive once again. That was an interesting spell, one that she'd not encountered before – and it had distracted her long enough for Hermione to rescue her shoe.

With her bushy hair flying every which-way, Hermione's mouth was a resolutely thin line, and from her semi-protected location she sent hexes and jinxes the likes of which Fleur had never even heard of before in a near constant bombardment against Fleur's shields. She was so beautiful in battle, and the room around her seemed to fade away before Fleur's eyes. Gold clouded her vision as the veela inside of her screamed for Fleur to relent.

Fleur closed her eyes, praying that it would stop. She did not want to keep this battle up any longer, for Fleur had seen enough – she just wanted to prove to Hermione (if no one else) that she was a skilled duelist and not just a pretty face. The spell Fleur used next was one that she had never actually thought that she'd use in person (and especially not on Hermione Granger in a demonstrative and skill-assessing duel in the middle of a classroom) – as she'd only ever read about it in her books on veela. "_Adamornor,"_ The word sounded harsh across her lips, but a smile grew across her face unbidden even then. (Come to me. Come see me how I see you.)

Dimly, in Fleur's outer consciousness, she realized that casting this spell on one that the veela was so attached to might not be an entirely wise plan. The haze was pressing up against her from all angles, and the veela seemed very satisfied with itself as it watched Hermione Granger's head roll to the side, her eyes blinking rapidly. Fleur couldn't think – couldn't quite remember what was so bad about this spell in relationship to a potential mate.

The curse was meant to create confusion in the foe, lasting just long enough for the veela to get close and strike the fatal blow. Some books that Fleur had read said that originally sirens had used it, before their blood became integrated with the veela and they lost their own identity. They'd used it to overpower men who dared come to close.

In three quick and precise strides, Fleur crossed the room and pressed her wand against Hermione's neck. "Do you yield?" she asked mildly as Hermione tried to blink what Fleur could only imagine were brightly colored spots from her vision and a haze upon her mind. "_Sometimes,_" she added in quiet French as she bent down to look Hermione in the eyes, "_it is better to surrender_." She could not help slipping into her native tongue. Part of her did not realize what she was even doing, let alone saying any more. The language of seduction flowed far more easily off her tongue at the moment, and the passion was thick upon it.

Hermione Granger stared at her with wide eyes and nodded slowly (admitting defeat), her lips forming words that Fleur did not understand. After a moment of trying, the words finally tumbled out of Hermione's mouth. "What –_ the_ _bloody_ _hell - _was that?" she demanded, looking completely and utterly horrified. However, so close to Hermione's face (lean closer, little one. Let me taste you for the first time), Fleur could see the slight dilation of Hermione's pupils and her rapid intake of breath (The duel? Fleur [smugly] did not think so). To the untrained eye, it would have been lost, but the veela inside of Fleur was triumphant.

The color, what little there was that remained in Fleur's face, drained from it as she recalled the one drawback to the spell that made it rarely used in the present day.

The visions that those under the influence of the Adamor spell saw were creations of the caster's mind – the most horrible nightmares imaginable, visions of fantasy and… _Oh Merlin…_

In her push to win, she might have ruined everything.


	8. Act One, Scene Change Two, Interlude

**Golden Haze: Act One, Scene Change Two - Interlude  
**

**AN: **So... what was that about wanting to know what poor Hermione was going through? ehehehehe. Enjoy.

The response from last chapter was INCREDIBLE. You guys own. I will try and answer all your reviews within the next day or so.

Music of the Story: Shiny Toy Guns

* * *

It had taken her a week and a half, but Hermione Granger was finally triumphant. Well, triumphant to a certain degree, as there was still a language barrier between herself and the truth. A language that she did not speak and could not read. The offending document had been inserted into a book about spellwork done by magical creatures (call it a hunch on Hermione's part) and how some spells that would be perfectly innocent to a human caster but changed in implication when cast by one with creature blood. Fleur Delacour was part veela.

"Why, in all the languages in the world, does the ONE piece of information I need have to be written in Bulgarian?" she muttered darkly, staring at the pamphlet in her hand angrily. The name of the spell that had been cast upon her was carefully written in English characters along the top of the page in Madame Pince's neat and precise hand – the rest of the document was in Cyrillic. She had found it deep within the Restricted Section of the library after McGonagall had given her what was essentially a free pass to use it as she saw fit.

Hermione had to know. She had to know the truth in what Fleur Delacour with her long blond hair and intriguing accent had done to her on the second day of her class. She had to know why she kept waking up with her hand down her pants rubbing furiously at an ache that would not cease after dreaming of a lover that she could not even describe in words; a female lover, of that much Hermione was sure, and a very beautiful one at that. She had to know why her vision was tinged gold whenever she looked at Fleur Delacour now.

The Adamor Curse, as she had found in one of her professor's books that had been so graciously loaned to her, was a confusion spell that was more common in usage among women than men. Men apparently had trouble controlling the directionality and intent of the spell where women were far more practiced in their attack. It was supposed to bombard the mind with images created from the caster's own darkest dreams - they were not, as far as Hermione could tell, supposed to be sexual at all.

But what she had seen, oh god what she had seen. She had known that veela were sexual creatures, Fleur had admitted that much to Hermione herself, but the extent to which their sexual desires apparently went was mind boggling. She was filled with that need, after falling into Fleur's twisted spell, and nothing could satisfy it.

God only knew she'd tried.

She frowned at the pamphlet again and tried to push the thoughts out of her mind. Fleur was married, and no matter how farcical the marriage obviously was, it was not good to be fantasizing about another man's wife. She didn't know where the thoughts had come from, only that she was constantly on edge now. Especially in Defense class. She had taken to participating as little as possible, as she hated it when Fleur Delacour looked at her with those haunted blue, blue eyes.

Hermione couldn't look away then. Her kickers would grow wet just thinking about that stare.

"Bulgarian," she muttered again, tapping the pamphlet with hopes that a translation spell would work in her favor - it wouldn't. It only worked with Latin-alphabet based documents (naturally.) and Cyrillic was far more complicated a language for such an elementary spell. She had thought in passing, to look up the correct translation spell until Ron had mentioned that Ireland had lost to Bulgaria in the round of 8 for the Quidditch World Cup playoffs. The Bulgarian national team (and its seeker) would be playing England on Saturday – which made up Hermione's mind for her.

Hermione Granger knew exactly one person (that she was on speaking terms with) who spoke Bulgarian, but she couldn't think of a reasonable way to write him a letter and ask him to please translate this damn pamphlet so that she could figure out what else the Adamor Curse had apparently done to her. It had to have done something else. She had never been so sexually frustrated in her entire life.

She set her bag down on a table in the far corner of the library and hastily scrawled a note out to her once-love-interest-oft-penpal:

_Dear Viktor,_

_I know that it's been a while, but I was wondering if you'd be willing to help me with something that I'm researching for Defense Class. (Yes, I went back to Hogwarts since your last letter and I am truly sorry it's taken me so long to get back to you.) This spell came up in discussion and this is all that I could find on it outside of a textbook that does not have the clearest definition. I've found a document that could potentially help me but I'm hopeless with your language so I've enclosed a copy of it in the envelope. Please help me if you can. It means a lot to me._

_What do you make of it? Would you mind giving me the general gist of it?_

_How was your match against the Irish national team? You have England next right? I shall abandon queen and county and cheer for you when we listen to it on the wizarding wireless Saturday._

_Hermione._

It sounded... reasonable. Not assuming too much and certainly not discounting the fact that she had been a horrible penpal throughout the past year. That was her own fault – but there was a war on and it wasn't exactly like she had had days upon days of doing nothing (she had) to write to him. Everything felt so much more complicated now, to be back at Hogwarts but very clearly an adult. The dichotomy bothered Hermione.

* * *

Viktor's response came far more promptly than Hermione had possibly hoped. The school owl that had carried her letter south to an undisclosed location where the Bulgarian team was practicing before their much-anticipated (according to Ron, Ginny and Harry) match against England flew into the Great Hall on the tail of the owl delivering Hermione's daily edition of _The Daily Prophet. _

When the owl dropped the rather thick envelope on her head, Hermione tore into it eagerly. She hoped that Viktor had not troubled himself too respond to her so quickly (she honestly had not expected a response until after the match on Saturday) and unfolded his note with anxious fingers.

Viktor's written English had always been much more comprehensible than his English, even if he sometimes wrote letters backwards as was the way of writing them in his own native tongue.

_Hermione –_

_I do not have very much time to write this, so I will perform the enclosed translation spell (see the papers attached to your pamphlet) and return this to you with my thanks for your well-wishes for the match on Saturday. I did not realize that you still followed Quidditch, but I suppose that with friends like Harry Potter (who could play professionally if he was so inclined) you are at least around the sport of champions on occasion._

_This spell is a terrible one, Hermione, if cast by a veela upon one she feels a connection to only. Other than that it is no more dangerous than a simple confusion charm that a child could perform before entering school. Perhaps a little more unique than one would commonly expect in dueling, but an effective way to end such an engagement. _

_How did you even come across such a spell? Please write me back and tell me that you have not been either dueling or dueling veelas – you deserve peace now, the time for dueling is over. How is Hogwarts now, is it still as full of insanity as it was during my time there?_

_Before you say anything, your wish of good luck to me for Saturday's match is more than enough thanks for this simple help with my complicated language. _

_Yours,_

_Viktor_

He had signed the paper much like he probably signed numerous autographs for adoring fans, messily and with a flourish that Hermione had never stopped being impressed by. It was sweet of him to be so concerned for her well-being, but she did appreciate his respectful tone and avoidance of the 'dueling is a man's art' argument that Hermione had encountered a great deal over the summer when she had attempted to join various dueling clubs in London.

She flipped past the pages (obviously duplicated out of a spell text book) that Viktor had attached to her pamphlet and began to read the newly translated pamphlet – all the while painfully aware of the deep blue eyes of Fleur Delacour that were trained on her every movement.

She swallowed, desperately trying to not think about those eyes – so obviously roaming over her body. Hermione wanted more than eyes roaming over her body, she wanted this spell and it's lingering effects to go away – she wanted the release that she craved but could not achieve.

_An Announcement for Veela and those who have Veela Ancestry:_

_It is recommended that those who have even a drop of veela blood avoid using the _Adamornor_ spell all together. Recent incidents have concluded that when used upon those who share deep connections to a veela – usually romantic connections – that the effects of the spell are far more far-reaching than the recorded effects of this spell…_


	9. Act One, Scene Four

**Golden Haze, Act One, Scene Four**

**AN: OKAY EXTRA SUPER SPECIAL ONE TIME DEAL ONLY. PER SHETAN83, THE LOVELY BETA, THE PREVIOUS CHAPTERS HAVE BEEN EDITED AND EVERYONE SHOULD GO BACK AND READ THEM. :D **

I get excited sometimes, and I want to share with you all my first versions of chapters that are usually really rough. It's bad. I'm sorry. But hey, now you can go back and enjoy the chapters as I meant them to be read with the benefit of some very good editorial eyes to boot as well.

Also the rating as gone up. Sorry to anyone who _really_ didn't want that…

Music of the story: Imogen Heap, Plies (yes the rapper), Róisín Murphy and bitter:sweet

* * *

The next Sunday was the first school-sanctioned Hogsmeade visit. Fleur had spent a little longer than usual getting dressed that morning, finally pulling on a pair of black muggle designer jeans that she'd buried in her closet as she'd bought them on a whim, and they weren't exactly the height of wizarding fashion even among her peers. After some debate, she'd pulled a sweater that Mrs. Weasley had made for her before she and William had 'gotten serious' (it was the most lovely shade of blue) over her bra. It was still too warm to be layering, but the wool was a nice comfort against the chill that permeated the castle.

She wore her practical boots – although she longed for a reason to wear her other pair – with the metal capped heel and the just-right fit of well-broken leather – and a cloak against the slight drizzle outside. She was glad of the boots, as the ground was slicker than some of the tombs that she and William had ventured into in Egypt, and she had to pick her way carefully through the throngs of excited students down the road towards the main gates of Hogwarts. She had a 'date' for lunch, before some blessed time to herself. She was caught up on her grading and had absolutely nothing to do for the rest of the afternoon.

Fleur reasoned that she'd take the time to finally fix her nails – as they'd become chipped and she would be damned if she was going to use magic to fix them. Some things simply had to be done without magic.

Bill – Fleur tried to never call him that horrible nickname (it usually just slipped out around his family) – Weasley leaned against one of the gateposts with his arms crossed over his work jacket. His hair was tamer now, held back in a pony-tail, and he had taken his earring out as his department was out on a dig presently. He looked roguishly professional, Fleur reasoned. "Alright, Fleur?" he asked as he fell into step beside her.

She sighed loudly and said quietly, "I 'ave been better." She did not want her students (now looking at William with jealous eyes – did they not know that he and Fleur were _the couple_ of the year or whatever the newspapers were saying now?) to hear her unhappiness. A teacher was supposed to be a person beyond reproach and personal problems. Fleur wanted, desperately, to remain professional at all times.

Bill dug into his pocket and produced a faded packet of cigarettes – Arabic in bold red lettering advertised the best tobacco in the world. Fleur begged to differ but they were not allowed to smoke on Hogwarts grounds, so she'd all but given up this incredibly bad social habit that she had developed from spending far too much time with William in dusty old tombs of dead wizards. "Want one?" he asked, fishing one out and putting it between his lips.

It had been a while. Fleur shrugged. "Why not." She accepted the proffered cigarette (a little bent and worse for the wear) and then the lighter when William was finished with it. She lit it with her back to the brisk breeze that swirled around their bodies causing their hair and Fleur's cloak to drift every which way. She took a long drag and realized, yes, she had missed this.

They walked, smoking in silence for a little while. Fleur did not like to admit how much she had missed him. He was her best friend, her only real confidant outside of her sister (who presently thought her an idiot and was maintaining her silence until Fleur did as she promised and floo'ed their mother) and the only person who'd really been nice to her when she'd started work at Gringotts.

"William, how are you these days?" she asked as they rounded the bend into the town. Students were everywhere, watching her and William as they made their way to a bench off to one side of the town square. She'd meant to write him, really she had. It had been complicated with the situation involving Hermione Granger and the sudden increase in her personal work that came with a career change.

He grinned at her, looking rather as though he had also been meaning to write. He probably had. They were both rather bad about that. It was the sign of a good friendship when one could pick up exactly where it left off, and considering the airs they had to put on for appearance's sake – it was probably better that they could pick up so easily where they left off. "Alright." He took another drag on his cigarette. "It's lonely without you at home. No one to talk to, I'm sure the photographs and portraits think I'm bonkers by now."

Fleur giggled. "You 'ave always been bonkers, as you put it." This was what she had been missing. She could talk to her coworkers, but they were all still caught up in the whole 'you are unbelievably attractive and part magical creature' aspect of her being. It made it very hard to interact with anyone other than Minerva (old and stuffy) and Filius (also part magical creature, but more to the point; old and stuffy).

"Lies!" Bill protested, waving his arms around and drawing the attention of most of the common to their bench. He laughed, his eyes crinkling upwards and a genuine smile crossing his face. It had been a while since Fleur had seen that smile – since long before their farce of a wedding. "I went out the other night, again. I think I've met someone," he said seriously after another drag on his cigarette.

"Oh?"

"He's wonderful, Fleur! Looks rather like you actually, tall and with that whitish blonde hair. He's from Wales and talks with that truly lovely accent too." He was talking quickly and excitedly, his hands waving all over the place as they usually did when he was desperate to share something.

Fleur pondered this. She did not know any Welsh wizards other than Luna Lovegood and her father. They were rather… odd as a pair, but surely not every witch or wizard from that county was that bizarre. "Is 'e a wizard?" she asked. She had to; it wasn't a prejudice, but rather a legitimate concern with the given laws still on the books from the Dark Lord's reign of terror. Their marriage would at some point have to end and while the wizarding world was not as close-minded to outside-of-the-box relationships, one still had to be careful when finagling around the current legal situation.

William had other, bigger, problems than the blood-status of his potential love interest. As the heir to a fairly prominent wizarding family, he was expected to produce an heir. He wanted nothing to do with it, however, and had no interest in children. (Or the women that men needed to create children, but that was a different matter entirely.) He would probably end up having to give up his rights as heir to the family if it ever got out that he did not favor women – his brother Charlie would become heir and William would probably be in disgrace.

Fleur hated to think of Mr. and Mrs. Weasley like that – disowning their son because did not want to continue the family line – but the fact remained that that was what they would have to do, in the eyes of wizarding law. She shook her head, ever so slightly, at the thought.

"Yes! That's the best part! He went to one of the smaller schools in Wales - St. Armike near Cardiff - and thinks that I'm terribly worldly because I went to Hogwarts."

"Oh yes, worldly William Weasley." She still struggled with her 'W's but she took the time to clearly pronounce each and every one of them to raise the dramatic effect of what she was saying. A grin clearly across her face, Fleur stubbed out what was left of her cigarette on the bottom of her boot before vanishing it with a nonverbal spell and a flick of her wand.

Bill slapped her arm gently, "Oh hush up," he said quietly, laughter in the corners of his eyes. "How is your thing going?" he asked, his tone suddenly far more serious.

"My thing?" Fleur asked, confused. 

"With Hermione."

She should have known better than to expect him to have somehow missed her attraction to his younger brother's best friend. She had never explained what it meant to be in love and be part veela to him, and she hoped she would never have to. She did not mind being attracted to Hermione Granger as the girl was beautiful, but the depths to which her attraction went and the means that the veela inside of her would take to achieve that release that she so craved was frankly terrifying. "I may have ruined my chances forever, William."

His hand moved to her shoulder in a comforting gesture, and his eyes were suddenly concerned. "What happened?"

"I forgot that a spell is different for humans and veela." Fleur said, defeated.

"Forgot." Bill asked quietly.

"Yes. Forgot."

He sighed. "I'll take your word for it, Fleur. That brain of yours is far too sharp to forget anything though."

He had seen though the lie. He always saw through her lies.

She hung her head, staring at her hands and her chipped fingernails. "I am not perfect." 

"No one is."

They sat that way for several long minutes, not really looking at each other or even realizing the other was there. Fleur couldn't believe she'd admitted such a failure in judgment to William – she did _not_ want him getting involved in her problems – he had his own to deal with.

For a few more moments, they watched the younger Hogwarts students, allowed into the village for the first time, run around with glee at being set free of the school. Bill turned to Fleur and asked, green eyes sparkling mischievously, "Have you heard that England beat Bulgaria? Your friend Krum there caught the snitch, but England still won." 

"'e seems to 'ave made a 'abit of doing that," Fleur shrugged.

They laughed.

* * *

That afternoon, after a quiet lunch with William, Fleur finally had a moment to herself to simply breathe. She had missed him in the way that one misses a friend after being parted for a long time unexpectedly. She had Apparated to a Muggle town near Hogwarts after she and William had parted, purchasing the necessary materials to correct her imperfect nails. It was always an awkward experience to shop in the Muggle world, but as her English had improved so had her confidence, and she had had enough Muggle-born friends in school to understand how to use Muggle money. Now she sat, perched on the corner of the overstuffed sofa that dominated her sitting room-slash-office, carefully applying a new set of tips.

She bit her tongue in concentration, moving the brush with her right hand with difficulty. This is why she usually had someone else (Gabrielle, her mother) do this for her. Her muscle skill with her non-dominant hand was simply not there. She had done this many times before, however, and the results were so far a practiced perfection. It was almost meditative, to perform the same, repetitive motions. She had steady hands – her only saving grace. She would not use the guides that came in the package with the polish. She was above that.

She had just finished her left thumb and was carefully inspecting it for imperfections when a soft knock sounded on her door. Fleur jumped, startled, and was grateful that she had put the brush down temporarily. "_Entrez__,_" she said in distracted French, her hands preoccupied with her bottle of nail polish and brush. Had she been paying more attention, she might have noticed the hesitance in the knock, and would have answered in English – as very few people here even spoke French.

The door squeaked slightly when it opened; Fleur had been meaning to look up a spell to oil the hinges. The curly brown-haired head of Hermione Granger peered through the opening. Fleur smiled (this is unexpected) and beckoned her inside with a jerk of her head.

Hermione looked hesitant, but quickly scooted around the door at Fleur's stern look. Fleur had a feeling she knew what this conversation was going to entail, and she did not want anyone who happened to wander by her rooms to overhear her attempting to explain herself to a student with regards to a spell that she had very purposefully forgotten the lasting effects of when casting it.

Hermione stood awkwardly by the door, eyeing Fleur's bare feet and apparent preoccupation with her nail polish. She had somehow decided on such a cold and positively dreary day to wear a skirt and oversized sweater (did you dress up for me, beautiful one?) that made her look almost adorably childish. "Um... Hi?" she ventured at Fleur's apparent disinterest in her presence.

Fleur was trying to get her to squirm. She _liked_ it when Hermione was squirming in her presence. The younger woman blushed just so, and it was unbelievably attractive how she seemed to be incredibly preoccupied with Fleur's every move. "'ermione." she said, setting down her bottle of nail polish and waving her hand around. They would need time to dry now. "What can I do for you?"

Hermione was staring at the floor, a pink tinge clearly visible on her cheeks and ears. (Let me see you blush.) "I um..." (Look at me.) Fleur could see nothing but gold, the world had taken on a sparkle that she had never before witnessed. She knew what it meant, and she was not entirely sure that she liked it. The veela wanted her to make her move now, Fleur wanted to take her time and be sure that this was what Hermione really wanted. (She wants you, wants you to make her scream.)

She looked up at Fleur, who met her gaze evenly, her hand stopped in mid wave. There was an intensity in the way that Hermione stared at her in that moment – it was so alike (and yet dissimilar) to the looks that Hermione had given her that time as well, the time that Fleur did not like to think about back at Shell Cottage where she and Bill lived during the war. Hermione had been so hurt then that Fleur had barely known how to make her better. Fleur mused that Hermione had always been rather good at intense looks, even when they had been much younger and first encountering each other during Fleur's seventh year.

"I did some research on that spell you used in the duel two weeks ago." Hermione said quietly, not averting her gaze.

"Mnnn?" Fleur looked down to inspect how her nails were drying. She knew that it would annoy Hermione, who liked to have a person's full attention when she was speaking to them. (Fleur had tested this many times during summers at the Weasleys'.) Fleur wanted that reaction out of her, to feel her emotion and her anger that Fleur was not actually listening to her. She tried to sound as bored and distracted as possible when she asked, "What about it?"

"I think it did - erm... things. That you did not know would happen." She was now looking at her feet, concentrating on them with an intensity that she usually reserved for Fleur herself. She reached into her bag, slung over one shoulder and rummaged for some papers. "I confirmed it in my research," she said, pulling out a pamphlet and some note paper attached to it.

The very idea was hilarious. Fleur's vision was swimming with gold flashes as she put on her best sneer. There were many things that she was willing to take from Hermione Granger, but insults to her intelligence were not on that list. Granted, the overall effects of the spell had rather conveniently vacated Fleur's mind (she blamed the veela) at the moment it was cast, but she was acutely aware of them now (thank you very much). Hermione knew better than to doubt Fleur's ability, for she bore almost no (visible) scars after being under the care of Fleur following the Trio's escape from the Malfoy family estate. "And what makes you think, Mademoiselle Granger," Fleur drew out the words, the annoyed hiss barely contained behind a veneer of calm disinterest, "that I am not perfectly aware of what actions my spells will take?"

For once in her life it seemed, Hermione Granger was at a loss for words. She shifted awkwardly from foot to foot, squirming under Fleur's gaze. "Well, I..." she began, looking down at the papers in her hands and then back to Fleur. She shoved them back into her bag and clipped it shut with a jerk. "Look, I just wanted you to know that there was something messed up about that spell. I saw things that I don't think I was supposed to see - personal thoughts" she spat the words, "of yours."

Fleur knew her face looked like that of the proverbial cat who at the canary. "What sort of thoughts?" Her tone was even, inquisitive – but inside, the veela was laughing. It was funny, to know what Hermione had seen, to have intimate – _knowledge –_ of those fantasies.

"Personal." Hermione was bright red. She kept staring at Fleur for long, pregnant moments, and then looking away quickly, as though she wasn't sure that she had the resolve to keep up that intense stare of hers under Fleur's own gaze.

Screwing the cap back onto her nail polish, Fleur stood up. Even barefoot she was slightly taller than Hermione was in shoes. The height advantage was quite nice if Fleur did say so herself. She set the bottle down on the ottoman next to her bag from the Muggle store and a stack of essays that she'd graded the night before for her third-year class. The floor was freezing under her bare feet, but she stepped forward toward Hermione with what she hoped was a purposeful gait.

Her body was screaming, begging her to not chicken out this time around, to touch, to taste, to have her way with Hermione and then, when she was too tired to continue, to have her way again. Just thinking of Hermione seeing those (wonderful, delightful, debauchery-filled) fantasies made the near-constant ache between her legs that she felt just being around the younger woman come to life with a gusto that Fleur did not realize possible. She was surprised, as she moved forward, at just how wet she was.

Hermione took a step backward, her throat contracting as she gulped, and Fleur smiled. _You make it too easy. _It was easy to advance on the shorter girl, to corner her against the door with a hand on either side of her, effectively trapping her. "Tell me more... 'ermione... about these personal thoughts you think you saw." Fleur asked, leaning in to whisper in Hermione's ear. Her lips barely grazed the shell of her ear - Hermione was practically quivering under her stare.

"I saw you... and I saw me, and we were..." Hermione swallowed hotly, and Fleur smiled, catlike in glee. Hermione's eyes were wide, as if she could understand what was happening, or how close Fleur was to losing control of the creature within her. There was a fearful, tentative look behind those eyes, one that made Fleur pause until Hermione turned her face to the side and stared resolutely at Fleur's desk, her face now in profile and her ear right where Fleur wanted it to be.

"We were what? Talking? Laughing?" Fleur leaned in closer still and whispered, sounding as scandalized as possible, "Kissing?" She paused as Hermione tried to catch her breath, and then leaned forward, her lips brushing Hermione's earlobe. "Fucking?" Hermione smelled exquisite, and Fleur did not have the control to stop herself from lingering there a moment, just inhaling her scent.

Hermione made a strangled noise in her throat, as though she was trying desperately to speak and simply could not. Fleur could not contain the smug smirk that crossed her face, pulling away to examine Hermione's reaction. Hermione was still trapped, under the spell of the veela that Fleur was (really not) trying to repress. Hermione inhaled and exhaled quickly, as if trying to collect herself before she became undone completely. Fleur wanted to see Hermione let loose; there was a creature of extreme passion under that bookish shell, of that Fleur was positive. It was Fleur's duty as a potential love interest to drive her to the breaking point over and over and over again until she begged to be taken.

The veela's thoughts weighed on Fleur's conscious, and she was not sure that she had the mental fortitude to fight them. Or if she even wanted to. The idea of Hermione breathing so heavily, so obviously aroused underneath her mere gaze was enough to drive even the most sensible of thoughts from Fleur's mind. She wanted to touch this girl, touch her the way that she had always longed to do – and to be touched by those now shaking hands that still had yet to truly learn the art of passion.

"Did you know that the… ah…the spell would do this?" Hermione asked quietly, looking down at the floor once again. "I mean, this is constantly on my mind, I can't stop thinking about it."

"Would it be all that bad if I said yes?" Fleur's palm was pressed against the wood of the door that she had cornered Hermione against. Hermione could run now, and the moment would be gone forever - but her pleading eyes and shallow breaths told Fleur that she wanted something far more than to run. Fleur could smell her arousal - all veela could - and it smelled exquisite.

"N-no."

Fleur tilted her head ever so slightly to the side. Her bangs fell into her eyes as she leaned forward to again whisper in Hermione's ear. "Good," she said, unable to resist putting her mouth in places where it should not be lingering, brushing up against Hermione's earlobe once again. "_Je le veux._" She knew her smile was smug and self-satisfied when she pulled away. It was astounding, how easily the veela had gripped her consciousness and filled her with thoughts of how she was going to seduce this girl, and how she was going to take her time. She did not care that it was improper, that they were acquaintances (maybe even friends at this point) or that they had other problems and issues far more pressing that Fleur's magical blood deciding that it wanted nothing more than to have its wicked, dirty way with Hermione Granger.

But the ache was too good, a comforting pain filled with longing for what was to come. Fleur was surprised she was still standing, for those long stares that Hermione was giving her were making her weak at the knees. She wanted Hermione to kiss her, but she needed Hermione to know that what Fleur was feeling – and what Hermione was feeling— _that_ was no spell.

Everything was clouded in a golden haze now, but Fleur did not care. She would deal with the after effects at some other time. She was too caught up in the feeling, in the emotions and reactions she was bringing out of Hermione. For now, she was content to simply let whatever was to happen, happen (within reason).

Hermione stared at her. "I... I don't speak French very well."

Fleur laughed, running her fingers along Hermione's cheek and down her neck. Her skin was so soft. She lingered there, before her hand traveled further down, resting in places where it should not have been. Pausing at the swell of her breast, feeling the excited nub of something just barely hidden behind fabric – feeling down further still, caressing her stomach, her arse – never lingering too long in any one place. She watched Hermione's reactions with interest as she explored the shorter girl's body through her clothes. She dragged her freshly-painted nails over Hermione's exposed thigh and was granted a rare gasp from the girl. It was getting close to the point at which Fleur would have to stop – to continue the tension at a slow boil for another day - to drive Hermione wild with desire. "Then I will teach you, daughter of 'elen and Menelaus, because French is the language of passion."

"I..." The girl was persistent, still trying to talk when Fleur wanted her to simply shut up and _feel_.

"Mn?"

"I want you…" Hermione said breathily. She seemed conflicted after she said the words, blinking and shaking her head ever so slightly. Could she not believe her own audacity, as Fleur herself could not?

"You want me?" Fleur raised an elegantly arched eyebrow. "You want me to what, little girl? You must be more precise than that." Their lips were so close now, so close that Fleur could feel Hermione's breath upon her own. The younger woman (not really a little girl, despite what Fleur had said) was aroused, her pupils dilated, her breath shallow. She was squirming, trying to adjust Fleur's hand on her thigh without actually moving all that much. She was getting frustrated.

This was a spell's effects? Fleur thought not. No magic could create such a moment.

Hermione was fidgeting; Fleur's lips were so close to her own. There was a hesitation, and her lips parted slightly before the words finally came tumbling out of her mouth, as if unbidden. "Kiss me."

That would be giving everyone what they wanted.

Fleur wanted to keep at her cruel game a little longer. She leaned in and tilted her head ever so slightly so as to graze Hermione's cheek with her lips. "Come back to me when you realize that this…" Fleur trailed off as she dragged her fingers upwards to brush against the soft damp fabric of Hermione's underwear.

With a muffled moan on her lips that filled Fleur with triumph, Hermione wobbled on her feet. She pitched forward into Fleur, who caught her with ease and steadied her. Their bodies were pressed together now, the feeling unbelievable. _She fits so well_. Fleur's hand pressed more fully against Hermione.

This was exactly what Fleur had set out to do. She wanted to keep going, to push Hermione's underwear aside and make her scream. Regretfully, she pulled her hand away, staring into Hermione's confused eyes with a predatory stare of her own (something all those descended from veela were quite skilled at). "When you realize that this between us is not a spell," she finished.

At the loss of contact of Fleur's hand, Hermione let out a frustrated whimper, her cheeks bright red. She straightened slowly, pulling away from Fleur and slumping against the doorway instead. She raised her chin to meet Fleur's triumphant gaze with a wide-eyed look of her own, trying in vain to regain control of her breathing.

Fleur removed her hand and placed it firmly on the door handle, staring at Hermione with a promise. She would not let her blame this on a spell. There was much more, far more than a simple spell at work right now. She turned the handle and pushed Hermione out the door with a smile, watching as Hermione stumbled backward on unsteady legs. There was anger and frustration in Hermione's narrowed eyes – as if she could not believe that Fleur would deny her something such as this. She was obviously trying to regain her head from the passion and lust that also clouded Fleur's consciousness, but the longing in her eyes as Fleur started to close the door almost made Fleur's resolve cave.

"I will be waiting, 'ermione," Fleur said quietly, closing the door with her most sultry of stares.


	10. Act One, Scene Five

**Golden Haze, Act One, Scene Five**

**AN: **_And now we move into the meat of the matter. Department of backstory abounds and there is a decided lack of M rated material. _

_Music of the Story: One Week – Barenaked Ladies_

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* * *

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Fleur did not get much sleep that night, far too preoccupied with the ache between her legs and the golden haze that had now apparently permanently settled upon her vision. Until the veela was sated, there was no fighting the haze. It was there to stay – she had paid her grandmother enough mind to know that much about her heritage at least. She wished she had listened instead of rebelling against the words of that wise old woman. She had no idea how to maintain her control, she had come so close to losing it and she hated that feeling.

That night, the yearning that she had felt was palpable, like she could reach out and touch it. She had cried out in lust, alone in her rooms and very much aware of it. She hated that feeling, hated that she was alone and miserable and that she had let the best chance she'd had at satisfaction slip through her fingers out of some bizarre and misguided sense of duty and purpose.

Hermione had been so wet too, Fleur mused, her mind now plagued with images of Hermione's face, full of lust and want. They were hard to shake away. She knew that she should not be entertaining these thoughts at all, that what she had done was going to potentially be the ruin of whatever tentative trust she had so carefully built between herself and Hermione Granger. Yet, it would have been so easy; to move in and take what was offered so willingly.

She lay awake hours after relieving herself, wondering if there was a solution to her problem. Wondering if she could correct this. Hermione was not likely to forgive her easily. She had to understand that it was not a spell that did this to her. The spell could not create emotions, only feed on them.

She groaned and rolled over, wishing for nothing more than dreamless sleep.

x

On the first day after their _encounter_, Fleur was greeted with angry disbelieving stares from Hermione Granger over breakfast. They were so violent that that Townsend leaned over and asked if she had done something particularly horrible to the seventh years in class.

"No, just Mademoiselle Granger," she said with a private smile half hidden behind her steaming cup of coffee. "And it is a personal disagreement."

Townsend shook his head and reached across her for the jam. "I don't really understand you."

Fleur shrugged. "It is a common problem."

x

On the second day, she asked Hermione to stay after and demanded that she at least try to remain professional in class. She knew that it was a lot to request and that she was nowhere close to being the model of professionalism herself, but she knew that she had to at least pretend to be professional herself to stop a sullen and angry Hermione Granger from ruining the classroom cohesion that she was working so hard to create.

Hermione had refused to even speak in class. Fleur had gathered the seventh years in a circle trying to break a particularly nasty curse that Fleur had put on a trunk full of Honeydukes chocolate. This was a teamwork spell, as no one wizard could break the curse without an intense concentration that only Goblins could achieve through hours of meditation and careful planning. Hermione, however, had spent the entire class with her arms crossed across her chest, shooting death glares at Fleur whenever she thought that Fleur wasn't paying attention.

(What Hermione still failed to realize, however, was that Fleur was _always_ paying rapt attention to her. She was too beautiful even in anger to look anywhere else.)

As Harry and Ronald filed out of the room with nervous glances over their shoulders (how much had she told them?) Hermione remained seated, her fingers white-knuckled, curled around the edge of the desk. Fleur did not make a move towards to her, instead leaning against the comforting shape of her own desk. She closed and locked the classroom door with a flick of her wand. "I do not mind that you are mad at me – I may even be deserving of it, but it is 'urting my class now."

"I don't care." Hermione grumbled, not looking at her. Fleur wondered if there was ever going to be a moment where she would be able to speak freely to Hermione without the haze clouding her vision. She hated how Hermione was able to play her emotions so perfectly, to be so _angry_ at her without a verbal confrontation. "I … I can't believe you." Hermione said quietly, her brown eyes turning to meet Fleur's for the first time that day. The hurt was clearly evident in her eyes.

Fleur frankly did not believe herself either. She had taken a risk, a gamble, and it had not paid off the way that she had exactly hoped. The spell had ruined everything, and the sooner Hermione realized that the spell was not a set of artificial emotions, the better. She searched her mind, trying to find a way to express in words that fact.

She met Hermione's angry, hurt, stare evenly. "Be 'onest," she began – cursing her accent and the fact that she still did not have as good a grasp on the English language as she would have liked. She wanted to be comforting, to make the girl feel better. Still, she could not contain the veela's air of haughty arrogance that slipped into her voice. She was smugly proud of the fact that on some basic level, she been able to drive Hermione to the point of almost complete loss of control. "Would you really want me to do it then and there? You would 'ave regretted it instantly."

Fleur knew Hermione (and probably Fleur herself) would have had regretted it, even if the sex was as mind blowing and amazing as she anticipated it being. She wanted Hermione to admit that in order to feel what she was feeling, there had to be a mutual attraction between the two of them. Perhaps she should try explain it?

"I…" Hermione began, looking away hurriedly. Her eyes were uncertain.

Fleur pursed her lips. Hermione was teetering on the edge, Fleur knew, the expression had been so clear across her face that day with Fleur's hand in places where it (really) should not have been. She had wanted what Fleur had offered, had tried desperately to get it, and Fleur had pushed her away. It was a cruel game she was playing. She wanted to offer a solution, a remedy to that logical brain of Hermione Granger. She did not know what to suggest other than trivializing her own involvement in the situation. The two (probably) most important people in the world to Hermione had just left the room with long looks over their shoulders as Fleur had spelled the door shut and silent. "You 'ave Ronald," She said quietly, trying to keep her tone even and conversational. Saying this hurt her deeply, as she hated to think of Hermione as being involved with someone else. Hermione seemed to contemplate this for a moment before Fleur took a deep breath and voiced an assumption that she had had for a long time about Hermione Granger – one that she wished was not true. This was a test of the waters, so to speak, to prepare herself for an even more complicated seduction if it came to that. She had ever confidence she would win – however. Ronald was certainly not the brightest the Weasley family had to offer. "You are involved with Ronald."

Hermione gave an indignant snort. A harsh barking nose as though she could not believe that Fleur was even suggesting such a thing. Fleur wondered why she was reacting this way when it had been so obvious to everyone involved that she and Ronald were at least interested in each other for many years. "I am not," Hermione said quietly. Her cheeks were flushed and she seemed very embarrassed to admit this fact.

_It was all a ruse? _

"Non?" Well now. This was an interesting development. Fleur could not believe it. She had anticipated this being as central issue to her courtship of Hermione Granger, but the force of Hermione's retort seemed to imply that it was a source of some contention between the two friends. William had been convinced that the two of them were going to get married – Molly Weasley obviously expected it.

Hermione fiddled with the collar of her robe, her hair falling into her eyes and obscuring her face – she was hiding from the truth of the matter – from the expectation of literally everyone in the wizarding world that she would someday end up marrying Ronald Weasley. Fleur was impressed that she would admit it so freely. Perhaps the pressure bothered her like it bothered William? "It … it was like doing something with my brother. Insanely awkward." Hermione was muttering now, so much so that Fleur pushed away from the desk to move closer. She sat on a desk across from the one that Hermione was still sitting behind and swung her feet back and forth as she stared at her student.

"Ah." Fleur tapped her index finger on her chin. This was an intriguing prospect. "Then I shall continue without guilt." She smiled at Hermione in what she hoped was a friendly way (it really wasn't).

Hermione snorted and folded her arms across her chest once again. She looked even more indignant than she had (if it was even possible) when Fleur suggested that she and Ron Weasley were involved. "You put a spell on me, Fleur," she said, her lips jutting outward in what was very quickly turning into a (completely adorable) pout. "I am not acting of my own will."

Ah. That was where she was wrong. _Dead_ wrong. Fleur leaned forward, her hands clasped in her lap and a very serious expression on her face. "Tell me," she began a little hesitantly, "did you enjoy it? I made a… a mental error when I used the spell, but what you were feeling were true emotions. No spell can create emotions – only mask them or warp them to the caster's advantage. That particular spell is intended to draw upon emotions that are already present within both the caster and subject's mind. It cannot be faked."

It had come out like word vomit, but at least the truth was out in the open now. She had spoken quickly, but there was curiosity in Hermione's expression, and Fleur could tell that she was resisting the urge to open her class notebook and begin taking notes once again. Fleur kept her expression neutral as she watched Hermione process the information with little shakes of her head and contemplative looks. It was as though the younger girl was at war with herself – like she could not decide if she actually believed Fleur or not.

"May I see your research? I was aware of the effects of the spell when I cast it but I 'ave not read the analysis that you 'ave found." Hermione's eyes instantly grew fierce and she met Fleur's questioning gaze with a stare that said quite a lot about how she felt about sharing her research which Fleur had rejected without even looking at it previously. (That had, of course, been in favor of driving this beautiful girl before her to near orgasm with the simplest of touches and sultry words – but Fleur understood her pride, really she did.)

Fleur smiled her best smile and waited. She was not going to be refused. Despite everything that Fleur hated about being part-veela, it did have its benefits. She could get almost anything she wanted out of those she chose to show affection to. Hermione, being far more than one's average blushing innocent girl, was no different. Inside, the veela smiled, but Fleur hated it. Fleur would have relished the challenge of getting Hermione to show things to her. It would have been a challenge of baited breath and hidden glances. It would have been _fun. _

"I… I guess." Hermione did not look at Fleur's expectant stare and pleasant smile at first, but eventually her eyes moved up from the desk in front of her to meet Fleur's with a passive look of defeat.

(No one can resist me, beautiful one. It is sweet of you to try, though.) Fleur hated the veela too as Hermione dug in her bag and handed over a small sheaf of papers with some reluctance.

Fleur stood and crossed the small space between them, taking a gamble that perhaps she should not have taken. She leaned forward and caught the underside of Hermione's chin with her finger. Tilting the girl's chin upwards so that her eyes met Fleur's, she said, "I am sorry, 'ermione. I did not mean to lose control of myself like that. I, like you, enjoy winning."

Fleur held her there, keeping Hermione's gaze matched evenly with her own. Hermione seemed to be fighting the urge to say something, she kept swallowing and blinking – her cheeks flushed bright red. Finally, after a good minute of contemplation, Hermione admitted, "I… I didn't really mind."

Had she been anywhere else, Fleur would have let out a happy squeal in excitement at such a pronouncement. As it was, a wide smile grew across her face as she bent down, so her face was even with Hermione's own. "That," she said, leaning in as close as she dared, brushing her lips against Hermione's bright red cheek, "that is good to know."

Fleur Delacour stood up, the veela gleeful that she'd stolen a kiss, and, with one last look at Hermione's rather shocked expression, tucked Hermione's papers under her arm and swept out of the room.

x

On the third morning, Fleur received a note over her bowl of oatmeal. She opened it with eager fingers and smoothed it against the hard wood of the table.

_"I did not realize you read the classics."_

She turned over the words in her head a few times, thinking to how wantonly Hermione had looked at her, had offered herself so willingly in the wake of Fleur's spell. _The thing with that spell, Hermione, is that it takes two to make it do what it's doing to you._ She thought of their conversation the previous day and remembered how hesitant Hermione had been to believe her insistence of that point.

It was interesting to see that Hermione chose to ask a perfectly benign question after what they'd talked about yesterday. After the kiss that Fleur had placed so innocently on her cheek. Perhaps she was trying to talk about things without actually talking about them? Fleur liked to think of herself as an expert in that field.

Fleur borrowed a quill and ink from Minerva and responded after a moment's contemplation._ "I am descended from sirens. It is best to know the stories of those who once bested us."_

The next note came mid-way through her first class of the day. She was in the middle of a lecture on Jordanian curses that were used by the ancient Bedouin sorcerers who had built tombs throughout the middle eastern desert. _"My name came from Shakespeare, not Ovid." _Fleur vaguely recognized the name._  
_  
_"I have not read his work - is he Muggle or wizard?" _Fleur sent back when she dismissed her class.

x

On the fifth day, a package appeared on her desk after her seventh year class with no note attached.

_Hermione. _Fleur thought, running several checking spells on the package out of habit. She did it with all her mail – most who had ever worked in cursebreaking at least ran cursory checks on their mail before they opened it. They had seen too many bad things come in innocent packages.

The spells checked out, and Fleur ripped the brown paper open to find a paperback book with a worn cover. _A Midsummer Night's Dream_, proclaimed the faded green lettering. The pages were torn and frayed, and it was obviously well thumbed. Inside the cover, in childish handwriting, was an inscription: "_This book belongs to Hermione Jean Granger. Do not take it_."

Fleur wondered how old Hermione had been when she wrote that as she turned the page again.

_Ah, _she mused. _So this is Shakespeare. _

x

Fleur was reading the book that Hermione had left on her desk after class a week after their encounter, curled up on the couch with a blanket on her lap. The gramophone that her parents had given her when she graduated from Beaubaxtons had been wound and was currently playing soft jazz into the room. Fleur liked this more traditional device in comparison to a wizarding wireless (not enough variety) or a more modern record player (records were out of vogue in muggle society now, so finding any music outside of wizarding bands was quite challenging). The phonograph, however, was a classic. She could sit and read and listen all day to the sultry sounds of a very talented group of wizards from Spain while she read or graded papers, and it never got old.

She had just turned to a new page in her book – Puck had just been instructed by Oberon to place magical juice (some sort of potion?) on Helena's horrid lover. This was engrossing and astoundingly good for muggle litterature, a combination of the classics Fleur had known since childhood and what appeared to be a uniquely British set of mythos and characters (if the foot and historical notes that dotted the pages were to be believed).

Her fire fizzled behind her, a telltale sign that someone was trying to floo call her. Fleur did not want to be disturbed; she wanted to enjoy this play and return the book to Hermione so that she would have an excuse to talk to her about what she had read.

The fire fizzed once again, and a sharp voice that Fleur recognized all too well (and _really_ did not want to talk to) tutted before announcing (loudly. Fleur winced at the disruption of her peace.) in French, "Are you going to just sit with your back to the fire and ignore me?"

Fleur closed Hermione's book and exhaled loudly, blowing air upwards so her bangs blew every which-way. "Is it not working?" she asked, turning to lean over the back of the couch and meet her mother's floating head with an annoyed look.

"Non, Fleur," Her mother seemed undeniably smug at the fact that she had managed, despite all of Fleur's skillful avoidance of her calls up until this point, to have gotten a hold of Fleur. "Why have you shut us out?" she demanded, her tone filled with more annoyance than hurt.

"I don't want to talk about it." Fleur shrugged and tucked the corner of her blanket into her place in the book. There was no avoiding this conversation now.

She really did not want to parse through this conversation (again.) with her mother. They had been through it so many times now that it was like a broken gramophone record. Repeating the same things, day in and day out like it was new and exciting was not Fleur's idea of a good time.

Her mother sighed. "Child, it is really not that horrible, to be in love with someone."

_Humph. _She knew she was acting childish, but she did not want to have this conversation. Emphatically did not want to have this conversation. She folded her arms across her chest and hoped that her mother wouldn't notice the sullen pout on her face.

"Fleur…" Her mother's tone was now reproachful, as if daring Fleur to continue to act out like a spoiled child not getting her way.

Fleur sighed, wondering how much she could conceivably tell her mother without completely launching the woman into a panic over the fact that she was so far gone into the haze now that her control was minimal at best. Her hand finding its way that far up Hermione Granger's panties also implied that, but Fleur was not about to mention _that_ particular excursion to her mother. Rather, she would keep the conversation as to-the-point as possible. "Maman, I would take her against her will if I had the opportunity. I almost did once and that was why I think that coming here was a horrible idea."

In that time, the time that Fleur did not like to think of when they had holed up at Shell Cottage and Hermione was so, so sick, Fleur's control had been at its lowest point to date. She had had to leave the cottage to pace the beach for hours at a time sometimes to calm herself down and to shake the haze from her vision. Hermione had acted as though Fleur's absences were nothing then, but Fleur could see the hurt in her eyes every time Fleur left her side to clear her mind.

Her mother tutted, sadness in her eyes as she stared at Fleur with the look of one who was not quite sure where she had gone wrong. "You would do no such thing. You are veela – you are a picture of control, always – it is in your nature." (Stop being a drama queen and accept your heritage, Fleur.)

Angry hurt eyes, facing her mother's sad eyes. "I made a mistake, Maman."

"You never make mistakes," Her mother retorted quickly before her brow furrowed. She looked concerned when she asked, "What did you do?"

"The Adamor spell…" Fleur trailed off as her mother's look of confusion quickly became one of alarm. "I used it on her."

"You know what that spell does to our destined ones!" Her mother's tone was frantic and disbelieving as Fleur hung her head in shame. She should have known better, should have had better control. It was foolish, a gamble that Fleur was not able to accept the risks of. She had wanted Hermione to know – and yet things were moving too fast now – it was all so sudden.

"I think that that was why I did it, maman." She said quietly. As hard to admit as it was, she wanted her mother to not judge her for her lack of control, but rather how desperate she was getting to have Hermione for her own.

"Then you are a fool, Fleur." Her mother's judgment rang through the room as the gramophone finally ground to the end of the record, a few long seconds of screeching as the arm adjusted itself to spin off the center of the record and return, magically, to its resting point. "You must become one with your heritage, and you will finally be at peace. I promise you."

"I do not want to be a veela – I want to be a girl," Fleur shot back, sounding (she hated it) like a child. They had been through this argument so many times now that it was almost as though they were just doing it for show. They both knew where the other stood on the matters most important to them both – as mother and daughter usually did.

"You cannot deny yourself like this," Her mother sighed. "You will lose your control eventually."

Fleur worried on her lip, chewing it until she tasted blood. She would not admit defeat, but the golden haze was getting to the point where Fleur knew she was going to need help before long. She finally admitted in defeat the crux of her problem, "I see the gold every day."

Her mother seemed thoughtful, if a little taken aback that Fleur had admitted something so important. She seemed to reflect on her words for a moment in a way that only mothers could do before meeting Fleur's gaze full on and saying, "Tell the one you love about the veela. About what you are denying yourself."

"She does seem interested in magical creatures…" Fleur responded, tapping her chin thoughtfully. She had given Hermione the book on veela that she had corrected (an accident, of course) in a fit of anger some years ago, that book contained the bare necessities. If only she could prompt Hermione to ask her about it. She pursed her lips, that could be doable, if the circumstances were right.

"Then you have your in." Her mother's head turned, as though it was about to remove itself from the fireplace and terminate the conversation.

Fleur wasn't ready for that, she had not fully prepared for what was going to happen when she suddenly found herself very much alone with the knowledge that her mother (while not exactly approving) did not disapprove of what she was doing either. It was so strange, to know that her mother, for once, was not judging her on her past actions, but rather on what was happening in the now and the present.

"Maman," She said quickly, _wait._

"Mn?" her mother turned back to face her, her eyebrows raised as though daring Fleur to make a request of her.

Breathe. "I am sorry. I just… I hate this." Fleur closed her eyes, afraid to meet her mother's expectant gaze. She had apologized for all of this. For the first time in her life, she had admitted that she could not control these urges she felt almost constantly. It was a weight lifted from her chest and Fleur could barely contain the feeling of relief.

_How did I make this so hard on myself?_

Her mother's shoulders came into view along with her floating head as she shrugged expressively. Fleur understood her exasperation, her confusion and the fed-up look in her eyes. "You are an unusual child, Fleur. You run away to England out of a misguided sense of duty to that Diggory boy, you are forced to get married there to protect yourself from their barbaric laws, and you deny your heritage as though it is a curse rather than a blessing from your grandmother and I."

She hung her head, "I know."

Her mother pursed her lips in an expression that Fleur recognized very quickly as one she herself made regularly. "How is William anyway?"

"He has met someone. A nice man from Wales." Fleur did not see anything wrong with sharing the truth with her mother; she was bound to find out sooner or later anyway. These things had a way of getting back to the people you were trying to keep them from, so honestly was sometimes the best policy.

Her mother's face blossomed into a brilliant smile. "That is excellent. When are you separating?"

The nerve of that woman. "Maman!" Fleur exclaimed, her eyes wide in disbelief that her mother would even suggest such a thing. "I do not know."

"Well think about it, that lie will stand in your way with your destined when the time comes." Her mother retorted, indignant at Fleur's indignantly.

"I will." Fleur said quickly, her cheeks flushed. "All my love to Papa." She added as an afterthought. Her father probably would be disapproving of her not at least writing him – he who wanted nothing to do with the veela situation in their family and would rather dote on Gabrielle and herself. She would have to get on that, and soon.

"Of course, mon petit chou." Her mother smiled.

Her brow twitch at the childish nickname. _I am not a blasted cabbage, mother. _ French endearments were always so bizarre when translated into other languages. Living in England had completely ruined that nickname for her. "Please don't call me that."

"Always, Fleur." Her mother smiled and disappeared from the fireplace with a pop and cheerful crackle.

x

Fleur was prevented from continuing on her way to dinner at the end of a particular grueling lesson with her seventh year students. They were all so capable that sometimes Fleur thought that she was really unable to teach them much more than they already knew. This was most assuredly not true, the logical voice in the back of her brain said, but Fleur could not help but see seeds of doubt when they managed to master almost everything she put before them in record time. Perhaps it was time to switch gears, to talk about advanced dealings with magical creatures – to give herself the in that she had been so desperate for with Hermione. She was tired now, however, and wanted nothing more than to go to the Great Hall and get something to eat before retreating to her rooms to fall asleep on her couch listening to her gramophone and finishing off her book.

"Professor, do you have a minute?" Hermione Granger's voice cut across the quiet buzz of students leaving the classroom's conversations on the lesson, dinner and each other's weekend plans.

"Yes, Mademoiselle Granger?" Fleur set down her bag on her chair and raised an eyebrow as Hermione very pointedly waited until the last of the students had left the room. Draco Malfoy was among the last to leave, and he muttered something under his breath as he passed Hermione, who gave him an annoyed look and flicked her wand at the door he was pulling closed after him – it slammed on his ass.

Fleur smiled, impressed at Hermione's magic and her lack of tolerance for Draco Malfoy's attitude towards her.

"The more I think about this. The more I think that it can't be a spell." Hermione said without preamble, coming to stand near, but not too close to Fleur, her black outer-robes wrapped tightly around herself as she stared at the door she'd just slammed on Malfoy's back.

Fleur saw the black circles under her eyes, so familiar to nights of nightmares and unpleasant memories that Fleur had to shake her head ever so slightly to remove them from her mind's eye. She knew what Hermione Granger looked at at her worst, but now she just looked tired and confused, as though she did not know up from down. "You have not been sleeping again, 'ermione." Fleur said quietly, stepping closer to Hermione and reaching out to touch her shoulder with a hesitant hand.

She did not want to move too quickly and scare her off.

"How can you tell?" Hermione asked, leaning into the touch ever so slightly. Her cheeks were red, but her eyes were full of a question that Fleur did not want to answer.

"You did not sleep, very much, that time either." She said simply, looking away from that questioning stare. They never talked about what had happened when Hermione had been recovering from her time at Malfoy Manor, and it was understood that they would never talk about it – for Fleur knew things about Hermione that not even Harry Potter did. She had ammunition and were she ever feeling spiteful she could use it. Hermione had not trusted Fleur more than to reach a silent accord to Not Talk About It with the older woman and leave it at that. "I know the signs."

"Oh." Hermione's eyes flashed dangerously, as if daring Fleur to say more. Fleur held her tongue and waited, grateful that Hermione was not shying away from her touch as she started to make comforting circles with her thumb. "You're right, I didn't." she admitted, defeated.

Gryffindors do not like to admit weakness, even more than Slytherins – they put on a brave show for all around them and pray that no one notices how hurt and scared they are. This was an insight that Fleur had gained spending time with the Weasleys and in her short time teaching here (Had it been a month already? _Merlin, time flies._) at Hogwarts.

Fleur knew she had to change the subject, and fast, before Hermione started to dwell in those memories for so long. She smiled, and moved her hand to cup Hermione's cheek. "I take it that you are not sleeping for an entirely different reason now, non?" Teasing, no matter how blatant, would bring Hermione back to the present and force her to think about the spell and what Fleur had done to her the week before.

"I…" A brilliant blush blossomed across Hermione's cheeks. "Yes," she looked down, her face warm under Fleur's palm.

Fleur smiled. "That is what I had 'oped." She said sagely. "As long as you are not 'aving the nightmares again, then all is well."

"It is not all well." Hermione pulled away from Fleur's hand with a scowl. "I can't sleep."

"And why is that?" Fleur raised an elegant eyebrow with a carefully neutral expression on her face. It was fun, talking to Hermione like this, to have layers of implication and teasing in her as many ways to distract her from what had happened in those harrowing days.

"You." Hermione's answer was blunt and to the point, her face however was anything but. So many emotions played across her face at that moment. She looked hesitant, shocked and deeply embarrassed all at the same time. It was a strange play of emotions, and yet they were beautiful across her face.

Fleur smiled gently at her, her fingers unable to stay away from the soft (oh so soft) skin on Hermone's cheek as she spoke. "Ah." She couldn't think of anything else to say – everything else would ruin this moment of their eyes meeting and such an intense connection that was being made between them. Hermione's brown eyes were wide and full of an emotion that Fleur could not place – but she smelled of longing and of late summer sun. Fleur inhaled deeply.

Hermione's eyes flicked downwards and then upwards once again – as if she was thinking quite hard about something. Fleur made a move to withdraw her hand but Hermione's insistent eyes made her pause as the shorter girl began to speak.

"Seventh years can go to Hogsmeade any weekend we want – you know, since we're all of age anyway. Would you… um, come with me this weekend?" She spoke quickly and by the end of it had scrunched her eyes closed.

A smile dawning out of the look of confusion on her face, Fleur took her time as she said the words carefully. She had to be sure, ever so sure, to say the 'H' in Hermione's name. It would be more poignant that way. "Hermione Granger, are you asking me out on a date?"

Hermione sighed, biting her lip and opening her eyes to meet Fleur's inquisitive gaze. "Yes. I think I am."


	11. Act one, Scene Change Three, Interlude

**Golden Haze – Interlude Three**

_AN: I'm glad that everyone enjoyed the previous chapter! This chapter is intended to bridge the gap and provide a little insight into Hermione's feelings about the whole situation._

Music of the Story: Grace Potter and the Nocturnals, Wild Nothing

* * *

The Gryffindor common room was filled with the quiet buzz of chatter as Hermione Granger sat in her usual spot at a large study table (tucked in an as out-of-the-way as one can be in a very much circular room) sucking on the end of her quill, trying to think. The parchment in front of her curled off the end of the table across from her despite the fact that it was filled with nothing but simple scribbling and no real thought was being put into what she was writing. It was a free thought exercise – her mother had told her about them years ago when she was still young and having trouble expressing herself. Hermione was trying to figure out what she wanted to do with Fleur Delacour the following evening and also to attempt to sort out what her feelings were regarding the whole matter.

Fleur had told her, in no uncertain terms, that spells could not create emotion – only feed on those that already existed. She knew that this was true on an intellectual level, but that spell that Fleur had used on her was driving her to the point of distraction constantly now. It had gotten worse since she'd gone to see Fleur in the Defense Professor's rooms (a mistake she would most certainly _not_ mind making again). Their encounter then had left Hermione feeling frustrated and heartbroken that Fleur would not simply _finish_ what she had started. Hermione wanted her to finish, had wanted those long fingers with freshly painted nails to press inside her and to take away the ache she could not fix herself.

No. Everything had to be just so – and Fleur had obviously lost control of herself. That was all that there was to it, a simple mistake on her part, a loss of control that she seemed to covet above all other things. Hermione understood that, she understood why Fleur looked at her the way that she did sometimes, with a soft smile and a private understanding that Hermione desperately wished that Fleur Delacour did not have about her character.

Ron Weasley, sitting across the table from Hermione was still slightly purple in the face as he tried to process what she had just told him a few minutes before. She had announced after reaching her third foot of parchment that this exercise was a horrible failure and she couldn't believe that she had actually asked Fleur Delacour out on a date.

She'd done it for many reasons, most than anything else she'd wanted to remove Fleur from the setting of Hogwarts and the wizarding world as a whole to grill her for information about what, exactly, she had meant by 'playing on emotions that were already there' – among other things. She wanted to spend time with her, to get to know her better and to finally get that kiss that she had been denied before.

Finally, after another long pause in which Ron's mental process had clearly progressed into overdrive, he spluttered, "You asked her on a date?" His eyes were wide with disbelief and Hermione felt an air of something that felt a little like pride at the fact that Ron had, at one point, done this as well, but had been turned down.

"Yes, I did, Ronald. What does it matter to you?" She set down her quill and met his incredulous look evenly. She knew why he was upset, but she frankly did not care. Fleur was the one who had been so obviously flirting with her, not the other way around. Fleur was the one who had used that horrible spell that left her without release.

Ron seemed to think for a moment, "It's Fleur!" It was an argument his sister would have made, and had she been around instead of in the library studying with some of the girls in her year. Ginny had never been much of a fan of Fleur, and Hermione had no idea how she was going to tell her closest friend about this rather daring move she had made.

"She's married to Bill for Merlin's sake!" Ron added, waving his arms around and drawing attention from half the common room. Hermione sunk down in her seat as she felt a good thirty pairs of eyes settle on her. She hated being at the center of attention.

"She doesn't wear his ring." Harry said quietly from behind the sports section of the _Daily Prophet. _He was sprawled across the couch; his sweater was bunched up around his chest due to his constant readjusting of himself. The couch had always been lumpy and Harry really should have known better, Hermione thought as she watched him squirm into a more comfortable position. It was cute really – in a bizarre 'what-on-earth-are-you-doing' sort of way.

Ron gave an exasperated sigh, running his hands through his hair. Hermione had heard him and Ginny, when they thought they were alone, talking about the situation with Bill. Hermione had never understood the wizarding world's obsession with heirs and bloodlines but when it came to continuing the family line even Ron (who cared very little for those who chose to base their lives around such ideals) was very adamant that Bill had to be the one to continue the Weasley line. Bill's marrying Fleur had apparently taken a huge load off his shoulders, as he'd confided to Hermione and Harry during their time together looking for Horcruxes, because he did not want his parents to face a decision about who would be the heir to the family if Bill never married. "That doesn't mean anything Harry."

They all knew he was denying the truth its light. Hermione wasn't an idiot and neither was Harry. Bill Weasley was obviously very close with Fleur, but their relationship was a deep friendship. Hermione had stayed in Fleur's _bedroom_ the previous year when they were at Shell Cottage, none of Bill's things were even in the room.

She sighed, playing for a more logical argument with hopes of reasoning with Ron. It might have been a bad idea to tell him, because they were still trying to settle back into friendship from being near-lovers. It had been going well honestly, up until this whole thing with Fleur started, but now it was starting to get tense and uncomfortable. "Ron seriously, you know what Voldemort was doing, getting all of those laws forced into effect. I wouldn't be surprised of Fleur's veela blood leaves her a fairly second class citizen."

"Fleur Delacour is a lot of things, Hermione, but in need of protection from the likes of S.P.E.-or would it be V.?- W. is not one of them." Ron said, cradling his head in his hands as he tipped his chair backwards. There was a hint of defeat in his voice that one who did not know him as well as Hermione did would not have picked up on. "She really knows her stuff."

"Exactly," Hermione agreed. "Given how smart she is, don't you think that maybe getting married to her best friend was better than being hunted down like some sort of animal?" She folded her arms across her chest and frowned across the table at Ron. Harry was maintaining careful silence, for which Hermione was grateful. She could not fight this battle on two fronts. "I don't see why you lot doubted her."

"Well, I—" Ron stared evenly down at the table as his ears turned an impressive shade of crimson. He was embarrassed.

"She is more than a pretty piece of arse," Hermione was indignant. Both men around her coughed quietly and didn't look at her for a moment. Hermione was smug; she knew that they saw in Fleur what she saw in her – spell or no spell. It was just strange, their non-reaction to her admission of being attracted to a, their professor and b, a woman. She took the lack of reaction to be a good thing, because she did not want to think about either of them having a poor reaction. It cut her as deeply as Bellatrix's knife had, and the thought was quickly banished to the darkest part of her mind that only plagued her in nightmares.

Harry snorted. "You're the one who asked her out, Hermione, not us. Ron got that out of his system _years_ ago."

Ron blushed even more if that was possible, burring his face in his hands and moaning, "Oh! The memories, don't remind me!"

That year had been a horrible one for their friendships, but they had come out of it closer to each other than ever. Harry had been put into a truly horrible position and they had been virtually powerless to help him. He was lucky to still be alive after everything that happened that year – they all were.

It was better now. Voldemort was gone and they could worry about normal problems that eighteen and nineteen year old people had to worry about. Like dating and how horrific she was at it. Hermione laughed. "I have no idea what I'm doing here, really."

"That is painfully obvious by the five feet of parchment you've created in the past two hours brain storming ideas of what you want to do with her. Why not just go to the Three Broomsticks and listen to the match like every other _normal_ person?" Ron said, pulling Hermione's parchment away from her and flipping it over so that he could read it. He raised his eyebrows at a few of the things that she'd written before rolling it up and putting it to the side.

"I don't much care for Quidditch." Hermione muttered, flipping the rest of her papers over and running her hands through her hair. "Besides, it is not sexy. Or sophisticated. Or revenge for her using that spell on me."

Harry raised an eyebrow, sitting up and pulling his sweater back down. He looked a little taken aback, as though he couldn't think of Hermione with a sex drive or something equally bizarre. She was a woman, she had _needs_ that were growing more and more obvious (to Hermione at least) with every passing day. "You're going for sexy?"

"Obviously." She wanted to woo Fleur Delacour, to sweep her off her feet and make her finally commit the loss of control that she had been teetering on the edge of a week before.

Harry gave an elaborate shrug. "I'm staying out of this then." He unfolded his paper and buried himself behind it once again.

Ron shot him a look before saying quite seriously as he leaned across the table towards Hermione. "You should wear that black dress. The one you like so much."

"Thank you Ron, for being helpful." Hermione ran her hands through her hair and shuddered at the idea of having to _tame_ it for a date. It took hours and she hated doing it, she'd never much cared for appearances when her hair was fairly presentable with just a good brush in the morning. It hadn't been, when she was younger and did not care nearly as much as she did now (which was not very much at all), but now it was simply curly and had volume thanks to shampoo that Hermione had figured out how to create with just the supplies from the sixth year potions supply list.

She turned and glared at the smiling face of the star chaser from the English national quidditch team that Harry was hiding behind. Why couldn't he be helpful? He was actually good at this stuff. His green eyes appeared over the top of the paper and he said, quite earnestly, "I'd rather live, Hermione, then suffer the wrath of you not getting this date of yours exactly right."

"Harry Potter, you are so helpful I could _scream._" Hermione muttered, reaching across the table and pulling the list that Ron had stolen from her back towards her. Fleur had a gramophone in her room, and Hermione had not seen a lot of records. She could take her to that place her father liked so much… they'd just have to go to muggle London to do that.

"Please don't. The first years are too much in awe of us already, I don't want to tarnish their image of us perfect heroes by you throwing a temper tantrum." Harry was good at being glib, but the undercurrent of what he was saying was not lost on Hermione or Ron, as there was a distinct sense of awe that most of their classmates seemed to regard them with now. It was better in their seventh year classes, as those were their peers – the ones who knew them best and had fought in the war. Even the Slytherins (those who had come back) had been far more tolerable than the younger years, who seemed to watch them and hang on their every movement.

"Harry –" Hermione began, not really knowing what to say.

Ron frowned, before adding. "Maybe they need it, Harry."

"I dunno you guys, shouldn't they have their heroes?" Harry shrugged. "Lord knows I did."

"But we shouldn't be putting on airs for them. We should be being ourselves. Maybe if they see that we are normal—" Hermione couldn't stop herself, the words came tumbling out, one after another and Harry and Ron both stared at her as though she had three heads. "What?" she asked.

"You just asked your _married_ Defense Against the Dark Arts professor out on a date." Harry grinned at her from over his paper. "_That_, is hardly normal."

Hermione frowned, before insisting, "She is very attractive."

Harry grinned, folding up his paper once again. "I will not disagree with you there." He set it down on the uncomfortable couch next to him and said, "Hey Ron, I have an odd question."

"Yeah?" Ron answered, meeting the questioning gaze of Harry quite evenly. Hermione wondered what he was going to ask, as Harry tended to be far more insightful than he let on to be.

"How does the wizarding world as a whole feel about someone like Hermione asking out someone like Fleur?"

Ron bridged his fingers on the table in front of him and Hermione hoped that he would not be too much of a prat about what he was about to say. "In that it's adultery even if it's a sham marriage? Or in the sense that they're both girls?"

Harry got up and joined them at the table. Hermione wondered if their conversation was just a little too loud or if he thought that she deserved more privacy than he ever got from the rest of the common room. The young ones were looking at them behind their books and magazines with overly interested eyes. Hermione wondered if it had bene like this for Harry since he had first started school, but she already knew the answer, and knew that what they were experiencing now was far, far worse. "The second one." Harry said in a far more quiet voice than before.

Ron matched his tone, "No one really cares. It's not encouraged, but if both parties are happy no one minds."

Harry folded his arms across his chest. "Then why is it such a big deal that Bill married a woman?"

Ron threw up his hands, like he couldn't believe that they were going around this topic again. Hermione thought he was acting childish, because this particular aspect of wizarding culture was alien to both herself and Harry, they both did not understand the need for a first-born son to marry and have a child. It seemed an outdated idea, honestly, even for the more traditional wizarding world. "He's the first born – he has to produce an heir even if he is not inclined that way – or he will be disowned according to wizarding law. Mum and Dad were very lenient with him because of the war – but he's twenty eight now and he has to settle down."

"I think that's stupid." Hermione sighed. Bill was obviously very close with Fleur, but it was the sort of closeness that she shared with Harry and Ron. It could be mistaken for romantic love, but at its heart it was strictly platonic and akin to the close connection that siblings shared.

"It is, it's horrible, but it's the law." Ron agreed.

Hermione folded her hands primly across the table and said in as earnest a tone as she could with her face cracking into a bright smile. "Then we should change the law."

"I…" Ron looked at her, clearly flabbergasted.

"I plan on changing the law, Ronald." Hermione continued in her best politician voice. "Because the law is _wrong."_

"Go Hermione go!" Harry used his wand to create some confetti to go along with his cheering.

Hermione grinned at him. They were getting off topic, and she did need help with this brilliantly stupid date she'd asked Fleur Delacour out on. "So. What should I do for this date?"

They put their heads together and began to plan.


	12. Act One, Scene Six

**Golden Haze, Act One, Scene Six**

AN: With regards to Fleur's music choices, I did not want to impose my taste in music on her too much (otherwise she'd be buying Cake albums or the Spice Girls – which would actually be cutting edge and _modern_ in 1998 when the story takes place – but also not classy enough for one as awesome as Fleur) but rather stuck to popular music from that day and age that was a little bit dated (per the fact that she has a record player), but also in keeping with what I believe to be her music tastes.

Music of the story: The Beatles – Strawberry Fields Forever and Susumu Hirasawa – Paprika Original Soundtrack

* * *

Saturday morning at breakfast, Fleur received another of the notes that she had grown somewhat accustomed to finding tucked into her food, inconspicuous and oh-so-cleverly placed. She wondered if Hermione knew some of the elves who worked in the kitchens, as she was far too skilled at getting notes to Fleur without an owl.

_Meet me by the main doors at three. Bring muggle money if you have any, we're going to a place where you might want to buy something. If you don't we can stop by Gringotts but I'd rather not if at all possible as the goblins hate me for what I did during the war. - H_

Apparently they were not simply having an excursion to Hogsmeade as she had initially anticipated when Hermione had asked her on this outing. Rereading the note, Fleur thought it adorable how Hermione had apparently forgotten that one could change over muggle money at the Owl Post office in Hogsmeade. She was still so new to this world, Fleur reminded herself and Hermione still possessed a naiveté about the way things worked within the wizarding world that was full of youthful innocence that Fleur knew Hermione no longer possessed. None of them were innocent any more, though, the war had seen to that.

Fleur retreated to her rooms after breakfast and a long look at the pointed lack of Hermione Granger at the Gryffindor breakfast table. Ginny Weasley gave her what Fleur supposed was intended to be a friendly smile but it looked more like an upwards-turned grimace. The lone Weasley daughter had never liked Fleur very much, despite Fleur's rather desperate attempts to integrate herself with the Weasley family when she and William were first beginning their 'relationship.' Ginny had probably seen through her very obvious play acting back then. She had become a much better actress since those first meetings, or at lease she hoped that she had.

She smiled back at Ginny and nodded to Harry Potter who was sitting next to his girlfriend and grinning at her in a way that said entirely too much about what he knew of the situation. Fleur was going to have to talk to Hermione about that – until she and William figured out what they were going to do about their lack of attraction to each other despite being married, it was not a good idea to share the fact that they were going on a date with the world.

Still, it was encouraging that Hermione was willing to talk to her friends about what was going on between herself and Fleur. The wizarding world was not entirely accepting of such relationships, but there were no restrictions placed upon them like there were in the muggle world. Her mother, once upon a time when the American muggle government had passed such a completely ludicrous law that it made the French wizarding newspapers, had said that muggle attitude towards love was horrible and that they all needed a lesson in passion. Fleur had chosen to ignore her at that point in time, wishing that she was not destined to suffer the same scorn.

It was so strange to think that she was finally coming to a point in her life where she was moving forward for her own personal benefit. Fleur still felt completely out of control when she was around Hermione, the veela pressing up against every aspect of her human nature, urging her to take, to touch, to pillage and leave no figment of doubt in Hermione's mind about the nature of this attraction Fleur felt.

Veela love was possessive and powerful and it scared Fleur to death. Her life had barely even started when she had first become aware of the powerful and maddening attraction that her veela heritage was able to inflict upon her. And this was despite the careful control that she had built up over years of practice. Meeting Hermione Granger at eighteen had been a foolish act of chance, and had the Triwizard Tournament not brought them inexplicably together, Fleur knew that she would be feeling another form of madness now – the kind that is akin to pressing loneliness. Veela cannot live without their destined one, but until they become aware of who that destined one is, there is a void in their hearts that nothing could fill. They could not date, or seek the comfort of another, they were simply _alone. _

She sighed loudly; glad that she at least was aware of who her destined one was – even if she did not want to accept the consequences of fully committing to that relationship. Loving a magical creature – even one with diluted blood like Fleur's – was difficult and unpleasant at times. Hermione probably did not know what she was getting into. Fleur had yet to find the time or the words to tell her.

Fleur spent the remainder of the morning grading fifth-year essays on the principles of offensive versus defensive magic and how defense spells could also be used on the offensive. It was boring, and many essays simply rehashed the same bland tone and key points that she had lectured about the week before. Those who chose to discuss and debate what she had talked about in class received Exceeds Expectations, all the other essays were somewhere between Dreadful and Passing – thankfully for this particular class, there were no Trolls. She did not want to assign more work to make them understand that their lamentable performance was unacceptable.

As the afternoon began to set in, Fleur found herself standing in her bathroom, wet from the bath staring at her reflection with hesitant eyes. She tried to avoid looking at herself in the mirror naked like this – she felt self-conscious and confused as to what everyone found so damn enticing about her. She was rather average looking she thought, with split ends, and a birthmark on her hip that her mother had always said was a carry-over from the fact that she was only part veela instead of full blooded. They were not the perfect creature their ancestor was, and their bodies had to reflect that – marred in some way to differentiate their tainted blood from that of the pure veela.

Still, Fleur felt thoroughly and completely boring – certainly not the veela sex goddess that many of the male youth at the school had obviously (per their vacant stares in her presence, among other things) come to think of her as. She liked music and loved to read and was a little too passionate about the French national quidditch team – this was hardly sex goddess material.

She picked her wand and preformed a simple water extraction charm and directed the blob of liquid that she had just pulled from her hair into the sink with a practiced flick. She had no idea how to dress for Hermione's outing, and she knew that they were certainly not going to be spending their time in Hogsmeade which suggested that she dress a little nicer.

Making her way across her bedroom to her closet, Fleur grumbled as she contemplated different outfits. It was cold, she was naked, Hermione Granger was doing her damnedest to play mind games and make Fleur over think things (as if you don't already). After about twenty minutes of shivering she finally decided on a skirt and a pale blue button up top. She did not want to dress too provocatively on the first date, but she could not resist pulling on a pair of tights and her entirely too-impractical-for-her-line-of-work boots. She loved those boots, having found them for the deal of the century in muggle Paris a few months into her studying for her Mastery. These were the boots that William had dubbed 'fuck me boots' the first time he'd seen them in a joking way that Fleur at the time did not quite understand but now found the perfect reason and occasion to wear.

At a few minutes before three, she pulled on her lightest jacket (it had been sunny and unseasonably warm for the past several days) and warded her door with the usual mix of English and French jinxes that would both alert her to intruders as well as do all manner of unspeakable things them should the attempt to force their way inside. She debated adding a blood boiling curse that she'd learned in Egypt for a moment before deciding that it was a little to excessive (not to mention a little dark) to use in a school. In a place as safe as Hogwarts there wasn't much point using such spells, but old habits die hard and Fleur was nothing if not a creature of habit.

The entrance hall, antechamber to the Great Hall where they took their meals, was almost devoid of people when Fleur finally arrived at the top of the main staircase into the heart of the castle. A few Hufflepuffs were chatting at the base of the stairs, glancing uncertainly at her as she trotted down the stars as quickly as her boots would allow. Fleur smiled politely at them, wondering if she should say something about how loitering in the hallways was against school rules. She thought better of it after they turned their attention back to each other and continued on, looking for Hermione.

At first Fleur did not see her; and then, suddenly, Hermione was there. She stood by the door out of the castle with a small and private smile on her face, waving ever so slightly as she caught sight of Fleur.

Fleur's mouth fell open (She is so beautiful. You should not deny yourself.) and she could not find the mental fortitude to close it as she stared openly at the girl, her knees suddenly a little weak with the nervous of what she was doing.

Hermione had done something with her hair to calm it down from its normal state of frizziness, it now fell around her shoulders with a gentle curl. It looks amazing, and oh so soft. Fleur wanted to touch it. Swallowing, Fleur reached the bottom of the stairs and crossed the Entrance Hall with a purposeful stride that she hoped would not betray her nervousness.

(Coward.)

_If you don't have the confidence, fake it._

She had dressed up, like Fleur had, and Hermione looked stunning. She was wearing a black summer dress that was bordering on inappropriate for the weather and a grey cardigan that Fleur had seen her wear many times before – it had to be a favorite of hers. Fleur wondered if Hermione even realized how beautiful she looked in low heels and a short dress. Fleur struggled the find the words to tell her, but they would not come. The veela was pressing against her consciousness, settling in a golden haze of indecisive nervousness and very distracted thoughts of taking that dress off of Hermione Granger's body and having her dirty way with the girl.

"Hi," Hermione said quietly (probably to not draw attention to herself ) as Fleur drew level with her, stopping a careful distance away so as to not overwhelm her senses.

"Salut," Fleur responded with a smile. Her mind was full of thoughts of that dress and those heals and how much she wanted to see Hermione out of them and in her bed. She swallowed again, suddenly even more nervous and very much unsure of how to act now that they were together. The anticipation of with might happen was filling her every sense, driving logical and sane (human) thoughts from her mind. She debated what to say for a few anxious and drawn out seconds before tapping her finger against her chin and asking with a playful smile, "Are you going to tell me where we are going, 'ermione?"

Hermione stuck out her bottom lip and folded her arms across her chest. "It's a surprise." She said testily – as though she could not believe Fleur had the audacity to ask.

The both started to move towards the door at the same time, Fleur opening the half-door that was more often used when only a few people were passing in and out of the castle for Hermione. "Alright," she shrugged as Hermione passed under her arm and Fleur closed the door behind them.

She liked surprises as long as there were no explosions or having to create blood wards on short notice. She had had to do that once, and it had been such an unpleasant experience that William still jokes about it on occasion. Fleur had apparently (she denied it to this day) been so overwhelmed and stressed out over the idea of using such powerful and complicated magic that she had let out a string of expletives that even the goblins they were working with had been very impressed. It took a lot to impress goblins and in her moments of complete honesty with herself, Fleur was rather proud that she'd managed to make such an impression on their goblin friends.

The day was cooler now, but no so cold that it was uncomfortable, but the temperature was noticeable and Fleur hoped that Hermione would be warm enough in that dress that was too short and showed too much leg and was driving Fleur mad with wanting to feel Hermione's soft skin underneath her fingertips once more. "You look very nice."

Hermione glanced sideways at Fleur, her eyes moving from Fleur's boots upwards in a long and drawn out gesture that Fleur was not quite sure how to react to. She was used to being checked out, usually with far more lewd looks than the one that Hermione was giving her, but she had never so self-conscious about it before. Hermione's eyes lingered on her chest for a moment before meeting Fleur's eyes with a brown-eyed even stare and a flirty smile. "So do you," she said.

Coughing, her cheeks a little red at the compliment (what was she, fifteen and in love for the first time? Child, _please_), Fleur protested, "Please, these boots are wonderful, yes, but 'ardly practical."

Laughing, Hermione pressed on down the path towards the main gates. She was moving far more confidence that Fleur had, as the heels she was wearing were far wider and afforded her more sure footing down the rather slippery path towards Hogsmeade. "They're nice though. I'd kill myself in heels that high," Hermione said after a moment.

Fleur kept her eyes on the ground, but the time for that was almost over, for the path had already started to level out. "If one practices, it is not so hard to walk," She shrugged, mentally berating herself for not quite getting the point across. Her English had improved in leaps and bounds since she'd come here and had started to spend time with William's family – but it was still poor in comparison to her French. Sometimes Fleur felt as though she could not even say what she meant in French, but this was different. She sounded like an idiot. She sighed quietly, she had to move on, sometimes mistakes happened.

(She likes your muggle boots and the way your skirt hugs your ass, you should pay more attention to how she looks at you and less on the barrier of language. Love is a language everyone speaks.) With that comment Fleur gave up on the veela altogether and used as much of her skill at removing that particular aspect of her personality from her consciousness to remove the commentary from her mind. She was going to do this _her_ way, thank you very much.

They had reached the flat and well-traveled path to Hogsmeade now, and were walking side by side. Fleur glanced sideways at Hermione, before throwing caution into the wind and announcing, "I must say, 'ermione, that I did not think you would be the one to initiate an outing with me."

Hermione blinked at her before looking sheepishly down at the ground. Behind her tamed hair, Fleur could see a blush on Hermione's cheeks. "Gryffindor courage, I suppose," Hermione mumbled. She bit her lip, chewing on it thoughtfully (please do not do that, beautiful one, chapped lips are not fun to kiss) before adding, "I wanted to talk to you without the distractions of school."

The veela was back, causing problems, almost as soon as Fleur had pushed it out of her consciousness. This was going to be a long day if she did not gain control of herself soon. "Oh?" she asked, raising her eyebrows questioningly, "And what did you want to talk to me about?"

"Oh, nothing in particular," Hermione said airily, looking up at the ominous clouds above them and quickening her pace. They were almost at the gates now and with them the edge of the anti-apparation wards where Fleur assumed that they would then continue on to wherever Hermione had in mind for their excursion together.

As they walked, Hermione's hands brushed against Fleur's, and their fingers laced together almost effortlessly. Her hand felt good there, comforted by the warmth of Hermione's and the flush that covered both of their cheeks. She was thinking of what to say, to ask why Hermione had reached out to take her hand, when they passed though the main gates of the school. Hermione exhaled quietly and Fleur, quite suddenly, felt the familiar pull at the pit of her stomach that accompanied apparation.

It was considered incredibly rude in proper wizarding society to side-along apparate without warning, as the experience was often jarring. Fleur allowed herself to be pulled along by Hermione's strong grip on her hand and prayed that she would not get splitched. Hermione was still young, she'd had her apparation license for just barely two years now, this could very easily go wrong.

And yet the veela was impressed, again, by the magical prowess that Hermione was putting on display. It hummed contentedly as Fleur's stomach settled as they landed in what was apparently a dirty and dark alleyway. (She is powerful; she will make a good mate.)

_Tais-toi._ Fleur thought violently as the smell of _city_ hit her nose in a wave of muggle car exhaust and rotting trash. She wrinkled her nose and surveyed their landing spot, noting the fact that the pictures on the discarded and crumpled up newspapers did not move and faded posters on the walls advertized bands and products that she had never heard of. "We are in London," She said with a low whistle. Hermione had apparated them a lot further than Fleur would have been comfortable with in one jump. Usually when traveling such distances, one did several short apparations in order to conserve magical energy. "Muggle London."

Hermione had let go of her hand the instant that they had landed and Fleur was lamenting the loss of its warmth despite the warmer temperature here. "Yes," she said, turning and beginning to walk towards the end of the alleyway. She had looked uncomfortable for a moment before her face became once again a neutral expression of quiet interest. Fleur wondered if Hermione felt the same way about cities that she did after the Battle for Hogwarts – the constant assault of light and noise brought back memories that Fleur would rather forget.

Fleur hurried after her, the question on her lips before she really even thought about how foolish it sounded, "Why?"

Hermione shrugged, taking a right and beginning to weave her way through the crowds of late-afternoon shoppers. "I wanted to take you somewhere nice, where we wouldn't be seen by the press."

"You seem to be taking lessons in avoiding the press from 'arry," Fleur had finally caught up with Hermione and they fell into step once again. It was odd, to be in a place so foreign and alien to wizarding kind, with people talking on large contraptions with antennae on top while not really paying attention to where they were walking. Fleur wondered how out of place she looked in her wizarding casual clothing. Hermione certainly blended in more than Fleur did, as Fleur was already starting to get the vacant stares that her veela heritage apparently warranted.

She hated the stares, and shifted self-consciously next to Hermione as they waited to cross a street that was currently full of muggle cars and buses. Finally the cars stopped and Hermione marched briskly across the street, Fleur clicking along right after her. Given her magical skill, it was sometimes easy to forget that Hermione Granger was muggle born and that _this_ rather than the bustle of the wizarding quarters of the city was her native element. Fleur had no idea how to act around muggles – thinking that keeping her eyes intent on Hermione was probably her best way to making through this without embarrassing herself.

Hermione turned as soon as they crossed the street, cutting around a street vendor and heading down the less-crowded side street that they had just crossed. She had relaxed a little with fewer people around; the tenseness of her shoulders had dissipated some. (Not that Fleur was looking.) "He was the one who suggested we stick to muggle London so as to avoid the press, so yes."

_How much did she tell them?_ Fleur thought, worried visions of Ronald Weasley (or Ginny, but Fleur trusted Harry Potter to keep his mouth shut.) running to his mother and ruining their careful plan filling her mind. She would have to ask Hermione to keep some aspects of their relationship to herself – she did not want to blow William's cover if at all possible.

As the muggle shoppers began to thin out, Fleur could not help but ask, "Then where are we going?" It seemed like they were just walking at this point. Walking in impossibly high heels and short dresses that were both serving as excellent distractions to Fleur's already clouded mind.

Smiling, Hermione pointed at a flashing sign, "There."

The sign read 'downstairs disks' in curling neon script and on it was painted an LP that peaked Fleur's interests. _Records?_ She thought,_ surely not in muggle London._ She followed Hermione down the steps and through the door (whose bell jingled over the soft music that was playing through some disembodied speaker) to find herself in a musical heaven. She inhaled, quietly, not wanting to seem as though she'd never been in a store like this before (she hadn't) and bit her tongue to prevent herself from dropping to one knee and asking Hermione to marry her right then and there.

At Fleur's gleeful smile, Hermione blushed and ran a hand through her hair. "I um… noticed that you had a gramophone but not a lot of records, and thought maybe you could find some more music here."

"Records are 'ard to find in ze wizarding world and I zought zey are out of vogue dese days in ze muggle world – 'ow does a place like zis exist?" Fleur asked excitedly, speaking quickly. Her accent was far more pronounced now, as she was not actively concentrating on it not being as thick.

"People still listen to them." Hermione said, taking Fleur by the arm and steering her towards the back of the store where shelves upon shelves of records were carefully organized by genre and artist name. The paused in front of the 'b' section and Hermione continued in a low voice, "Well at least my dad does, he showed me this store the summer before my fifth year when he was on a quest for this particular Rolling Stones vinyl."

Fleur, having heard of the Rolling Stones from William's muggleborn friends, nodded. "'ermione, you are amazing," She proclaimed, leaning down to kiss Hermione's bright red cheek. She lingered a second, inhaling her scent, before pulling back and watching as Hermione turned her attention to the shelves before them, her cheeks bright red.

It was strange, to be in this store, surrounded by so much music. Fleur had no idea where to start in her selections, she wanted to buy everything. She was so grateful to Hermione that she did not know how to put her feelings into words. She wanted to tell her how much she had longed to be able to listen to the music that her muggle born friends had listened to on their portable devices (Beauxbatons did not have the restrictions on muggle devices that Hogwarts did – and many still worked on school grounds) but she had always lacked the technology to do so. Now, with her gramophone and some of these records she could finally catch up.

She found would appeared to be a brand new record still wrapped in its plastic with a French title that looked intriguing – the boy behind the counter had told her that it was a fast seller and she was lucky to have found it on vinyl as they were just about sold out of the limited first run of the album. Fleur hoped the money she'd paid for Pink Martini had been worth it, but judging by the sample that she'd been able to listen to on one of those strange muggle listening devices, it certainly would.

_Let me take you down, 'cause I'm going to, strawberry fields…_

The music that had been playing quietly in the background caught her ear and she made her way over to where Hermione was reading the back of an album called 'Rebel Yell' and muttering about looking for a different B-Side track listing.

"What song is this 'ermione?" Fleur asked, tucking her record under her arm. "It is very good. And 'ow do you say… catchy?"

Hermione nodded, "It's The Beatles."

Fleur frowned, having never heard of that band. Were they muggle, or more of a local group? "Are they new? I 'ave never heard of them."

"You… you what?" From Hermione's incredulous tone, Fleur could tell that she was a fan of the band, to say the lease.

"They are new, non?" Fleur liked to think that she was as on top of the hip music of their day and age as much as one could be with wizarding blood and no way to operate the more modern and entirely confounding music players that muggles favored.

"Hardly, they're probably the most popular band ever. Michael Jackson is up there, as is Queen, but The Beatles are the best." Hermione stared at her, eyes wide with disbelief. "You've really never heard of them?"

"Non." Fleur felt silly and as though she had missed out on something of vast cultural importance to Hermione. "They did not catch on at 'ome."

"Or in the wizarding world at all, apparently." Hermione lead her over to the 'B' section of the store and began to flip through the records, muttering to herself about how unbelievably ridiculous it was that Fleur had never heard of them.

Fleur pulled a battered and obviously well-loved copy of The Beatle's _Let it Be_, from the shelf and flipped it over to read the back of the record. They were rather … hairy men, she mused, but their voices, if the song on the store's music player was anything to go by, were quite lovely.

"You shouldn't get that one." Hermione had pulled a few albums from the shelf and was contemplating the album in Fleur's hands.

"Why not?" Fleur asked, taking the albums that Hermione handed to her and looking at their covers with interest.

"It's their most mainstream album. I'd go earlier, like The White Album or Sergeant Pepper's, they're both much better in my opinion – happier too."

Fleur grinned, "I did not realize that you 'ad such opinions on these things." It was cute, how excited Hermione was getting. It was a different side of her that Fleur had never seen.

"I find the fact that you have never listened to The Beatles despite growing up within spitting distance of the UK lamentable," Hermione said, taking _Let it Be_ and putting it back on the shelf along with _Help!_ (one of the two that Hermione had handed her a few minutes before). The final album was simply called _The Beatles, _which Hermione took from Fleur's rather alarmed hands with a flourish. She turned and marched to the counter, pulled some muggle money out of her cardigan pocket and paid for it before turning around and coming to stand in front of Fleur. "Wizarding household or no," she said quietly, handing her the album.

"Well," Fleur said in the most affronted voice she could muster as she tucked the album into the bag that she'd received with her own purchase. "Excusez-moi."

Hermione laughed and Fleur playfully pushed her shoulder. "Thank you," she said.

"It's nothing." Hermione shook her head, "I am fixing a tragic wrong."

Fleur sighed. And to think that she had felt cultured for knowing who The Rolling Stones were.

They made their way out of the store, smiling at each other with close guarded looks – the sort that Fleur had come to know as two people trying to deny their attraction to each other. Her vision as thankfully clear – the veela digesting what Hermione had done, to buy her a gift spontaneously like that.

"Are you hungry?"

Fleur shrugged. "A little," She said. Truth be told, she was still a little too nervous to entertain the thought of food.

"I am too. I had to eat really early today, doing this to my hair takes _hours," _she grinned sheepishly, toying with a lock of hair. "It's why I don't do it every day."

"It looks lovely." Fleur told her earnestly.

"Thanks." Hermione said with bright smile. She glanced around at their surroundings before scooting closer to Fleur and asking seriously. "What do you want to eat?"

Fleur grinned, an idea forming in her mind. She trailed a finger down Hermione's cheek – relishing in the fact that she was so close. "I think you know the answer to that," she said coyly with a rather suggestive raise of her eyebrows.

"F-Fleur!" Hermione backed away, her cheeks red and her eyes wide. Fleur smiled at her, the veela thrilled that she was flirting on her own.

An idea struck her, then. A place where they could go to eat and would be left alone to talk; she did know a place that would be practically abandoned at this hour – up north near where she and William had worked for several weeks on a dig with Gringotts. The only drawback was it was also a place that held bad memories for Fleur and she was not entirely sure she wanted to go back there.

(Go, she'll thank you for the sandwich.)

"'ermione, do you trust me?" Fleur asked, closing the distance between the in two short steps.

"Y-Yes." Hermione's eyes were uncertain, but her jaw was set in a resolute line. Fleur did not think that she was stuttering because of anxiety, but rather the intensity with which Fleur had asked the question. It was good, she was glad Hermione trusted her.

Fleur held out her hand, offering it freely to Hermione, "Take my 'and."

Hermione's palm was sweaty in her own, and Fleur's fingers brushed against something hard under the sleeve of the cardigan Hermione was wearing. A wand holster, with a strong disillusion spell on it, as Fleur had not noticed it before it had come into contact with her fingers quite by chance – clever girl. Fleur knew what Hermione had been through when she had been taken, Harry Potter had had her wand then, and she was defenseless. She wondered if the wand up her sleeve was even her true wand, or if it was a spare, one to have in case of emergencies. Fleur's own was shoved down her boot, along with a knife that she'd bought in Egypt the last time she and William had traveled there for work. Sometimes muggle forms of protection were more effective than wands and William had taught her how to throw that knife with deadly precision. There was very little else to do late at night while sitting around old tombs of dead wizards waiting for goblins to finally okay their entrance.

There were still supporters of The Dark Lord around and they were still out for blood. The ministry, if Arthur Weasley was to be believed (and Fleur had no reason to distrust him), had been doggedly hunting down the last of his supporters and putting them on trial as best they could – but it would probably take years to round them all up. They were like shadows at times, hiding behind layers of masks and half-truths and claims of the Imperious curse. It was better to have a wand up your sleeve than to be caught in the middle of Muggle London unawares.

They stood there for a moment, Fleur's left hand clasped tightly around Hermione's right, just staring at each other. It was odd to do this, to hold hands in a dirty alley way, in a completely alien environment. Fleur felt uncomfortable, as though there were eyes on her from every direction. She was not used to the constant light and noise- it reminded her far too much of the war. She had avoided London and her beloved Paris in favor of smaller towns to avoid the memories of those horrible days.

Hermione's breath brushed against Fleur's cheek as Fleur turned her head ever so slightly and put what she hoped was her best smile on. "Are you ready?" She asked, knowing how unpleasant side-along apparation could be if one was not expecting it. It was nice, being so close to Hermione, to feel her pressed up against her and their clasped hands joining their bodies. Fleur could smell something in the air, she wasn't sure what it was but it smelled of desire and of lust – smells that she (the veela, Fleur the witch was more uncertain and not entirely sure how to act when confronted by such things) liked coming from Hermione.

"Yes." Hermione nodded, and squeezed Fleur's hand gently. It felt good, to have Hermione's hand there, the veela was happy and Fleur felt as though she was high on a potion that brought about complete euphoria. Her vision clouded with the veela's desire, the golden haze filled her vision and Fleur was amazingly content to let it wash over her. This was an amazing feeling, and she never wanted it to end.

As she squeezed her eyes shut tightly, Fleur had a passing thought that maybe this was what it felt like to completely accept her veela heritage and to be one with herself as her mother was constantly nagging her to do. It was a strange concept, but one that she would dwell on when she had time to actually think about it, rather than when she was about to apparate two people and did not want to be in danger of splitching anyone. She forced all other thoughts from her mind and concentrated on the small grove of trees behind the place she had in mind. They would be alone there, the muggles who ran the shop tended to stay away from the woods.

They vanished with the familiar and oh-so-uncomfortable tug of the navel as well as the harsh pop of rapidly displaced air as they arrived at their destination. Fleur hated apparation. She despised how it made her feel like vomiting every time she did it. Still, it was the fastest way to get from place to place in the wizarding world and the convenience of it was a necessary evil. The closest floo to this location as in the middle of a _very _popular wizarding nightclub where they were sure to be recognized.

It was sad to think that without her 'relationship' with William, she would not have even been able to obtain an apparation license under the current laws. She was a foreign national (she had a French license) and possessed magical creature blood which made her, in some ways, worse off than muggleborns like Hermione. Had she been in France, where the laws were fair but the statute of secrecy was much stricter, she would have been perfectly safe without the need for a sham marriage to protect her. The laws were in the process of being revised if the papers were to be believed, but the process was slow and unwieldy as politics often was. Fleur did not think that she would be a completely free person in this county for some time still.

The woods that they landed in were thick and dark, fallen leaves littered the ground and the light from the overcast sky above them barely filtered through the trees to light their way out of the woods and towards the muggle restaurant that Fleur and William had once been so fond of. Fleur kept hold on Hermione's hand, not wanting to drop that warmth and happy feeling without reason. It felt so right, there, even if it left both of them defenseless with only their non-dominant hands to defend themselves.

"What is this place?" Hermione asked quietly, her breath coming in small clouds of steam in the suddenly chilly air. They had come from the more temperate London to northern Yorkshire in a matter of seconds, the air was dramatically colder. She shivered in her light sweater and Fleur cursed herself for not thinking of the cold and casting warming charms on the pair of them before coming here to these cold woods.

Fleur reluctantly dropped Hermione's hand and reached down to pull her wand from her boot, casting a non-verbal _lumos _and raising it above her head. They were deeper into the woods than she had intended, but she could clearly see the path leading towards daylight and civilization. This was a well-frequented wizarding lunch spot despite its muggle owners, as many Gringotts workers tended to want to escape the lunchtime crunch in London. Fleur whispered the incantation for a warming charm to Hermione's grateful smile. It was hard answer Hermione's question - to explain what this place was in a few sentences, for it was a place that she both loved and hated. She took a deep breath and began, "This is a place William and I found when we were still getting to know each other. We told our coworkers at Gringtotts about it and they fell in love with it too. I do not think 'e comes 'ere anymore." It was sad really, as this restaurant and these woods were a place where she and William had spent many a lunch hour talking and laughing and just being _friends_, before everything had changed. "I certainly do not anymore."

Hermione blinked in Fleur's wand-light, her brown eyes questioning and narrowed as she stood with her arms still wrapped around herself despite Fleur's warming charm. "Why?" Fleur wished that she wouldn't ask, but she knew that Hermione was far too curious, too intellectual of a person to not ask such a question. The veela in Fleur would not let her outright lie to the one it had set its sights on either. She hated being so blunt and honest, but the veela forced her hand when Fleur would rather dance around that particular subject.

Fleur lowered her wand to shine on the path and took Hermione's hand once again, leading her towards the outskirts of the woods. They would finish this conversation before they left the woods, yes, but there was no sense being this deep in the woods when the fringes of the forest were far less cold and dark. She picked her way carefully down the path, mindful of the fact that she was in heels and probably had not thought this through as much as she should have. "This is where we 'atched our plan, as it were, to protect each other from wizarding law that did not favor either of us." The explanation was rather simple, but it stank of a defeat that Fleur could never admit. She had given up on finding her mate, on finding happiness for the creature within her (she is right in front of you) in an effort to save her own skin.

Hermione stopped walking, her fingers pulling Fleur to a reluctant stop. "Then why did you bring me here, if it holds such bad memories for you?" she asked, staring down at their joined hands. Fleur took a step closer to her, suddenly full of a need to be as close to Hermione as possible she had to explain or else Hermione would not understand why she had to come here to do what she planned to do. Besides, Hermione was so adorable in her confusion, question written across her every part of her face. "I don't understand."

Fleur smiled, pushing a stray hair from Hermione's forehead. Her cheeks were purplish in the pale-blue light that surrounded them from the tip of Fleur's wand. She was blushing once again, her eyes wide and dark in this light. "They 'ave very good sandwiches here," she explained, gesturing over towards the edge of the forest where a road had come into view and a parking lot full of muggle cars and bicycles could be seen. A sign advertized soup and some sort of beer that Fleur had never heard of, blinking in the half-light of the growing evening. "Also I want to… 'ow does one say," She paused, her finger resting on Hermione's cheek. She could see the younger girl's breath, fogging up the short distance between them. "Exercise a demon."

"Oh?" Hermione grinned, leaning closer to Fleur with a conspiratorial look on her face as she whispered, "What sort of demon?"

She was so close now and flecks of gold that had been dancing on the edge of Fleur's vision had quite suddenly pulled her from a dimly-lit blue world into one of brilliant golden sun. The veela was telling her to take what was so clearly offered and Fleur, for once, was not going to fight it. "_This one_," she said in quiet French before leaning in and brushing her lips against Hermione's slightly parted ones.

Fleur lost herself in that innocent press of lips, standing in this dark patch of woods in the middle of a muggle town. Hermione was responding, slipping her hands around Fleur's neck and sighing quietly into the kiss. Fleur pushed her hands under the thin cardigan that Hermione was wearing, running her hands up and down the shorter girl's sides. She was warm, comforting, and she filled Fleur with a sense of belonging for the first time in her life.

She was hesitant, but Hermione had obviously been kissed before as her hands were tangled up in Fleur's hair and her lips were slightly parted, daring Fleur to push further.

Her control was shot, completely gone and lost in this sensation of having the pure and constant essence of _Hermione_ filling every sense of her body, overwhelming what little conscious thought Fleur maintained during this exchange. Fleur drank in the passion that Hermione offered to her freely, pushing her tongue into the shorter girl's mouth and sucking urgently when Hermione offered hers in return.

Fleur could not find a place to rest her hands, and they wanted freely over Hermione's back, eventually resting, hesitantly, on her arse. Hermione groaned into her mouth, pressing herself closer to Fleur.

The kiss was everything she had ever hoped for, allowed herself to dream of, and more. Fleur battled for dominance with Hermione, her hands now toying with the hem of Hermione's dress. They were going too quickly, this was too far – not to mention cold and out of doors.

Reluctantly, she brought her hands away from the skin she had been so eager to touch and allowed them to rest once again on Hermione's hips. She pulled away, tenderly kissing the corner of Hermione's mouth, their breath a foggy cloud between them.

"Fleur, I-" Hermione began, detangling her hands from Fleur's hair and letting them rest on the lapels of Fleur's jacket. She looked good with her eyes wide and her face flushed – her lips swollen from kisses, Fleur could get used to Hermione like this. She was beautiful.

Fleur placed a finger on Hermione's lips, stopping her from speaking so that she could say her part. "I am sorry," she said quietly, suddenly full of regret that she had not made this, the first kiss that they shared, more romantic. "I 'ad meant for it to be more romantic than that."

"N-no, it's fine." Hermione shook her head, her cheeks bright red even in the half-light of the woods. She continued quickly as Fleur let out the breath that she had been holding. It was no spell, and Hermione finally realized it. "It was lovely, wonderful even."

"I am glad you enjoyed it." Fleur smiled and rested her forehead against Hermione's, her eyes half closed against the color that flooded her vision. The veela was happy, and Fleur could feel her body changing ever so slightly, adjusting to this new feeling, this new presence in her heart. This was what her mother had told her about, the feeling of complete contentment and oneness with another. This was what she had been denying herself.

"Could you… erm… Do it again?" Hermione looked away, her cheeks rosy.

Fleur chuckled, and hooked her fingers around the belt that Hermione had worn over her tunic-like dress. "I can do far more than that, if you would only let me." She muttered, pressing her lips against Hermione's once more.

They never did find their way down to the restaurant that evening, instead choosing to apparate back to Hogsmeade and to hurry back up the hill to the castle and Fleur's rooms, where the kissing could continue away from prying eyes.

**END ACT ONE**

Post Script: I wanted to take a minute to thank my many reviewers who have been so wonderful, I love your reviews and I do try to respond to direct questions and comments as best as I can but I'm a young professional and work sometimes has to take precedent. Act two is on it's way!

So thank you, LauraFlowi, revcml, Meneldur, passionate-romantic, beelotus, xx, Darkshadow-lord, SoulAstray, gaby2angel, rosebella5903, kiarcheo, ian, DJS010, Asher77, the outskirts, as, avarenda, jaguar, nightshade88, Sirius T, mittens, iamme, me, 1010'jin, just twisty, lids234, Your Gay Friend, Hobbes the Cat, Kapleon, JocDand, A, Neiger, Wolf-of-Five-Elements, , jijibebe, V, Stargate-sg1sg1, foolyycooly, R, Ramada87, Mhm, immo, Doris, Shamblee, Kuramo, PBHey, Godzilla, Jstareader, marmotella, Julian, kiarcheo, xxiceeyesxx27, hah, Yeux Rogues, Slytherin or Gryffindor, rob, Aeleron

(Those of you who are reviewing anonymously and actually ask me questions, please leave me a way to get in contact with you so I can answer them!)

And of course, the most wonderful beta-reader of them all, Shetan83. Thank you so so much!


	13. Intermission

**THE INTERMISSION**

**AN: **Until the content comes along...

* * *

_From the morning mail of Professor Fleur I. Delacour, Thursday, October 1st, 1998:_

_One copy, _The Daily Prophet_, delivered, rather unceremoniously, on top of her head while sipping tea. After using a stain removing charm on her robes to remove the tea that she spluttered everywhere, the following caught her eye:_

**MINISTRY FIGHTS LAWS IN PLACE DURING REIGN OF TERROR**

_Isaac Johnson, Senior Staff Writer_

**LONDON – **The Minister for Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, has issued a statement stating that the Ministry's policy making arm is now officially dedicating all time and resources to correcting the laws that were pushed through by the former cabinet of supporters of You-Know-Who. While many of these laws are not being actively enforced, they are still on the books and Aurors and the Department of Magical Law Enforcement would be required to enforce them should the need arise. Because of this, Minister Shacklebolt and his cabinet are actively attempting to remove those laws.

Among these laws are rules put into place governing those who are muggle born as well as any persons who have magical creature blood. They require registration with the Ministry, as well as close monitoring by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement in a strong violation of civil liberties. Minister Shacklebolt, a strong proponent of civil rights and equality, does not agree with such policies and is struggling to overturn both public perception that registration and monitoring are necessary and the laws themselves, which are proving exceptionally difficult to eliminate.

"We cannot allow such policies to exist when they clearly violate the civil rights of so many," Shacklebolt said in a press conference Wednesday. He continued to speak at length about how muggle borns and those with magical creature blood needed to be treated as equals as they make up a majority of wizarding society. "We cannot exclude anyone from this society; unity is the only thing that will keep everyone together."

There have been arguments by academics that it was the lack of unity (perhaps put forth by the competitive nature of the wizarding schooling system within Britain) was what gave rise to You-Know Who. When asked about this possibility, members of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement declined to comment and members of the former administration (that are not in Azkaban) declined to comment for this article.

**EDITORAL: INQUIRY MADE INTO WAR TIME MARRIAGES**

_Ariel Hopson, Senior Staff Editor_

The Ministry of Magic is making inquiries into war time marriages to determine if there is a pattern in the allegations that many were performed under duress or in hopes of avoiding certain laws that were put in place under You-Know-Who's reign of terror. _The Daily Prophet_ would like to express its outrage over the fact that such actions are drawing attention from the Ministry as they are private affairs. Marriage, even it is to protect oneself from the law, is still marriage and we believe that it should be up to those involved to sort out their own situations.

Among the marriages that are under question are those involving heirs to prominent wizarding families. There is an assumption, as is the law, that the eldest must produce an heir – even if they do not have that predilection or are uninterested in children. In such a situation, adoption is considered unacceptable and magical means to produce an heir are frowned upon. To the _Prophet_, this is the law, rather than those that are in place to restrict the rights of those with magical blood and muggle borns, that needs to be repealed.

Heirs should be created out of love, not necessity...

x

_One note tucked in to her napkin. Fleur grinned opening it, and nodding her response to a pair of intelligent brown eyes focused on her with shining question. _

I have some questions about our lesson, could I come see you after lunch?

x

_Two letters: One short;_

Fleur, we need to talk and soon. I will come to Hogsmeade Saturday at noon. - Bill

_And one long, delivered by a very tired-looking owl that stole some bacon from Townsend and nipped Fleur's finger affectionately as she cooed at it while reading. _

Dear Fleur,

Mother wrote me to tell me that you and she spoke. This is excellent, and very good for me, because I miss you and now I can actually speak to you instead of ignoring you to prove my point. She also told me that you had finally spoken to your destined one and that William had found someone as well. This is wonderful, when are you two separating?

I know that this is hard for you, to be around her and to not have her know what she means to you. You should tell her about what our heritage means to you, I'm sure she'll get it if you do. She didn't seem stupid when I met her during the tournament.

There was an article in _The Republic_ earlier this week about how the British Ministry of Magic is trying to sort out the horrible laws there. This is good for you and William, right? Hopefully he can find some other way to produce an heir for his family so that you two can get divorced and you and he can both be with the ones you truly love.

Do you have any papers from there that have any information about what's going on there? _The Republic _is good, yes, but they hate the English and they don't really know what they're talking about. Last week they said something about forcing those who had not produced heirs to have children so that at least _that_ could be sorted out.

That's a lie right? They wouldn't force you to have a baby would they? You would make a horrible mother.

Please respond soon. I love you,

Gabrielle

x

_And one cryptic threat, cut out of pages of the _Prophet_ and spelled onto a faded piece of parchment._

**Y**OU ARE UNFIT_ TO_ TEACH,_ VEEL**A**_.

WE K**_NO_**W WHAT **YOU ARE** DOING AND IT DISG**USTS** US.


	14. Act Two, Scene One

**Act Two, Scene One**

**AN:** This is a shorter chapter than usual because it is mostly to set up the next chapter, a conversation and a meeting.**  
**

Music of the Story: Bitter:Sweet and Jónsi

* * *

The scene unfolded as such: Fleur Delacour sat at a table in _The Darkest Brew_ – a hole-in-the-wall coffee shop in Hogsmeade – across from her false husband and best friend William Weasley. Delicious black coffee was being had, and the steam clouded around their faces as they attempted to drink the scalding liquid. The conversation, however, is far from pleasant.

"They want you to have a child?" Disbelief colored her voice as Fleur gripped the coffee cup on the table before her, her knuckles white. As if this morning could not turn out any worse. As if this _year _could not get any worse. She had woken up late, had missed her chance to see Hermione before she had to hurry down to Hogsmeade to talk to William and get _his _overly cryptic note sorted out.

The other note, the one that Fleur did not want to think about, was being looked into by the headmistress and the board of governors of the school, who apparently took quite badly to people insulting and insinuating things about Hogwarts staff. Fleur was glad of this, because she did not think that she had the free time or investigation skills to track down whoever was clearly messing with her head in order to give them a piece of her mind and a few nasty curses for insulting her in such a manner.

Still, William's pronouncement filled Fleur with far more dread and confusion than a threatening note cut out of pages from the newspaper did. _Gabrielle, you are a soothsayer,_ Fleur thought darkly, her mind kicking into caffeine-induced overdrive as she tried to puzzle a way – any possible way – out of this situation.

Bill sighed, a great heaving sigh that did little to make Fleur feel better about the situation, and took long and slurping sip of his coffee. She wrinkled her nose at him, disgusted by the noises he was making. She felt trapped and confused. He looked at her with that even and calm look that she found infuriating during the war, and began to speak once again. "Da's under pressure at work – they want him to have a family name that isn't in question because that's how the law works."

Oh this was just _lovely_. Fleur took several deep breaths and stared intently at her steaming cup of coffee – wondering if it was possible to pull some sort of logic out of it. Her voice, when she found it again, was borderline hysterical though. At least she was able to keep the volume low enough so that only she and William would hear her. "They want us to have a child?" She repeated. _She would not make a scene, she wouldn't._

(She was going to.)

How had her life gone from good to bad in such short order? It seemed like only a few short hours ago (not days as was really the case) she was pulling Hermione Granger though her warded bedroom door and pushing her against the wall in a desperate attempt to express everything that she could not find the words with which to tell the girl. Her movements were as frantic then as her mind felt now and Fleur was unable to think of a situation where she felt more desperate.

This was a lie, she knew when she had felt worse but the memory was all but expunged from her waking mind – leaving it to only plague her with nightmares of how _hurt_ Hermione had been at the hands of Bellatrix LeStrange. Fleur shook her head violently to clear the thought of Hermione's broken face from it, instead thinking of how breathless and eager Hermione had been for her kisses.

"I wouldn't mind, honestly," Bill had set down his cup of coffee and was looking at her with interested eyes.

Fleur wanted to scream. This was entirely unacceptable, and most certainly _not_ part of their arrangement. She supposed that it could have been, but they had never spoken of children or of their collective want of them – only of their predilection for the same sex and how this was most unfortunate for both of them as the eyes of proper English wizarding society expected the eldest son of a prominent family to marry (however briefly) and produce an heir with a willing participant. Willing, however, was something Fleur completely and resolutely was not. She took a deep breath. "William," She began, speaking slowly and choosing her worse carefully. She knew that he knew how veela love worked. He wasn't an idiot and had told her that he'd aced Care of Magical Creatures in school. "It does not work that way. Veela love, no matter 'ow much I 'ate it, is one way only. I cannot, no matter 'ow deeply I care about you."

"I know, but it is getting to the point where we may be required to. To keep us safe." Bill, always the peace maker, seemed at a loss for words, and kept saying the same thing over and over again. "I jus' wanted you to know," he finished lamely.

Fleur's eyes flashed dangerously and her voice dropped to a low hiss. The veela was decidedly not happy with this, and neither was Fleur. This accord that they had formed, at being angry at William and his preposterous idea, was odd. Like the unity that Fleur felt around Hermione but far more uniquely her own. "That is, 'ow do you English say, bullshit," she said, flicking her hair over her shoulder and taking a long sip of coffee, pinky raised and a murderous look on her face.

"Fleur… please," Bill pleaded, his face falling.

_He_ should have known better. Should have known how Fleur was going to react. They were best friends, after all, and that had to mean something. Fleur thought that she was perfectly within her rights to be annoyed with him, even offended.

She glared at him and searched for the right words. She was agitated, frustrated and very annoyed. Her English came out in a jumbled mess of partially incorrect words and a good bit of French mixed in for good measure. She was sure that she sounded like an idiot. "No. I will 'ave a family. Oui. At some point zat is not now. Peut-être you could be a part of eet. But now? Je suis trop jeune."

"You're not too young." Bill said automatically earning him a cold look. Desperation was obvious in his eyes as he threw up his hands and slumped backwards in his chair, his hands shoved into his jacket's pockets. "We have to think of something," he muttered dejectedly.

Wizarding society – English wizarding society – drove Fleur to the point of complete and utter frustration. Heaven forbid someone had wanted to help their war effort. Especially if that person happened to have magical creature blood of any sort running through their veins – the laws treated her worse than a Death Eater now and when she had first come here she had had to get a special license just to travel to Hogwarts for the tournament. She gave an elaborate shrug, knowing that there was very little else they could do at this point. "Tell your parents. Charlie can be the 'eir. I do not care for these insane English laws and your society sometimes."

"I know," Bill ran a hand through his red hair and looked utterly lost. Fleur wondered if she would be overstepping the bonds of friendship to reach out and comfort him, to tell him that they would fix this and soon in a way that would not result in his getting disowned by his family. "Mum and Da, they would follow the law," he said quietly.

They would have to. Continuation of a family line, no matter how progressive and politically correct a family was, was more important than anything else in English wizarding society. William was a homosexual, but that did not exclude him from the duty of having to produce at least one heir in order to legitimately continue the family line. Male or female did not matter, all that mattered is that he get a girl pregnant and that she bear the child after that he could go be as gay as he wanted to be and as long as he was a good father, no one would care. Fleur hated that rule. Hated how the weight of it was present even now on William's shoulders and how it would soon come to rest, quite uncomfortably between her own as well.

_And here I was hoping for an amicable divorce when Hermione and I—_the thought ended abruptly as the veela seethed within her. Nothing, nothing at all, would keep her and Hermione from the happiness that the veela saw in the future for them both. Fleur would go insane before she let anything come between them. "Then you can finally 'ave the anonymity you so desire, William. C'est horrible."

Bill looked her at expectantly, as if hoping that she would have the answers that his own brilliant brain could not divine from the situation. At her shrug, he said, "I know it is. But what can I tell them?"

"I do not know." Fleur contemplated her fingernail for a moment before taking a sip of her coffee and finally deciding on an answer that kind and _normal_ people like Arthur and Molly Weasley would probably agree upon and think was reasonable. "Say that I am too young (I am you know) and that I want to live my life before 'aving children."

It was in that moment that Fleur remembered that William had been born give or take two years after his parents had finished school and wished she could take back what she'd said – as they were sure to never understand it, baby-making machines that they were. She started to speak again, but Bill was looking thoughtful so Fleur closed her mouth and waiting for the gears in his head to finish turning.

"And if that won't work?"

She knew better than to try and be funny and make light of such a situation, but a ridiculous idea had occurred to her. "You can polyjuice your new friend into a woman… and get 'im pregnant," She was trying to make the situation better, to make him laugh to get that horrible look off of his face as though he was carrying the whole weight of the world on his shoulders.

Bill threw back his head and laughed, drawing attention from most of the coffee shop and making Fleur wish that he would be quiet as she had been quite enjoying the lack of eyes on her and anonymity. Still chuckling, Bill asked, in a serious tone, "Think that'd work?"

Fleur gave him a withering look. "No," she said shortly. Polyjuice did not work that way – babies could not come out of men even in the wizarding world and while the idea was hilarious to think of – Fleur had once polyjuiced herself into a man and never wanted to experience that again. Not that Harry Potter wasn't a nice man to turn into, it had just been _awkward_ and well, weird, to see Bill look at her with eyes that said a lot more about his sexual preferences than hers. Plus the veela had been most upset with her for having the audacity to do such a thing and Fleur could only deal with feeling schizophrenic for so long before she knew she would really go insane.

She had to think. If things got to that point, what would she do? She supposed that she'd have no choice, and hoped that Shacklebolt would hurry up and get the laws fixed so that she could get divorced and never have to think about any of these truly horrible problems ever again. "I will speak to 'ermione on the matter."

"Why involve her?" Bill asked with a questioning look over his coffee.

"Because the child would 'ave to be 'ers too – to keep me from going insane," Fleur explained in what she hoped was an even tone. She supposed that she and Hermione were going to have to have this conversation eventually. It would be better to explain it in the context of this situation with William. She hated the idea that she was completely and totally helpless against this.

She had wanted to wait, to try and draw out the feeling of complete serenity she felt around Hermione for a few more precious days – seconds it didn't matter. She did not want to destroy the peace she had within herself now. Hermione was young, she might not even understand what Fleur had to say to her. There were so many unknowns in this equation and Fleur felt as helpless as she had during the war.

Realization dawned on Bill's face and Fleur tried to not look too annoyed with him, "Oh."

He did not really understand it either. No one really _got_ what it was like to be a veela or to have veela blood flowing through your veins, it was a learned experience and a harsh torture on the soul. Fleur felt anguished, at times, just being in the presence of Hermione and not being able to touch her as the veela so desperately wanted to. She had to draw the line somewhere, but the fact of the matter was that her control was close to shattered now, with Hermione surrendering to her kisses with gusto.

She was going to have to explain things to Hermione. And soon.

She took a sip of coffee and smirked at Bill through the pleasant and tickling steam that still rose from her cup. "And… I believe that it is called 'the turkey baster' method would have to be used if we do not forgo pregnancy completely?"

The veela shrieked inside her, that it was forbidden to speak of such things –that she could get into a lot of trouble for saying anything. Fleur pushed away from it, telling it to shut up and simply listen to her judgment for once. She had to tell William about this, as it was only fair to him to give him hope.

"In order to have kids, you sort of need to be pregnant, Fleur," William, bless his heart, was rather dense at times.

Fleur looked at him with narrowed eyes. "Veela 'ave ways. When mates are the same sex – or one is barren. The creature does not understand this and desperately need to mate and reproduce, so certain methods are employed or else the one who 'as the blood is driven mad."

She had to tread lightly here, she did not want to risk giving away too much. There was no direct rule against it, but her mother and grandmother had long-since warned her to avoid saying things about such a thing to the general public – as it was hard for regular humans to comprehend.

"They're… what, artificially grown?"

Fleur sipped her coffee thoughtfully, wondering if she could continue without actually breaking that line of taboo secrets she was not supposed to say. She supposed that she should not press her chances – to just leave it there and if the situation came to that, that she would tell him more. She would still need him, need his essence, but if Hermione was there was well – the veela could handle it. "Something akin to that, it is a secret that I cannot say."

"Would you mind terribly? Could you ask if we can use that method?" William looked as excited as his tone and shining eyes indicated. She smiled at him, and their eyes met in a one of those meaningful glances that friends sometimes shared. It was a solution that they could salvage – a farce they could maintain for just a little longer. Until Shacklebolt and the Ministry fixed the laws so they could be free once again.

"I do not know, William. I am so young, 'ermione does not know what she is getting into with me. I 'ave not the heart to tell her," Fleur sighed. "She will 'ate me when I tell her – and this? This will make it far worse."

"I am sorry." He intoned quietly, smiling a half-hearted smile that she supposed was supposed to be encouraging. It wasn't as it looked like something had died right in front of him and he was unsure how to react to it.

"Me too. Tell your parents that we are thinking about it." Fleur pulled her jacket closer to her body and drained the rest of her coffee in a gesture that clearly said that she was not going to continue this conversation at the moment. She supposed that she was being rude, but William had foisted all of his problems onto her yet again. She knew that this was partially her fault – with her sense of duty and desperate want to participate in the war that had taken Cedric Diggory's life. She had wanted to avenge that wonderful sweet boy who had died for no good reason and so many others like him, but had gotten caught up in the politics of English society and realized that this country was simply horrible.

She did not want to talk to William any more. She wanted to go and find Hermione and kiss her until she could not remember her problems. Fleur set her jaw in a resolute line and stood, nodding at William as he intoned, "Alright."

Upon returning to the castle that afternoon and wishing for nothing more than to go and collapse on her (oh so comfortable) couch and listen to her new records, Fleur caught sight of Minerva McGonagall crossing the entrance hall from the Great Hall and heading for the stairs. She quickened her pace and upon McGonagall's pausing at the base of the staircase to wait for Fleur to catch up to her, was able to catch up with the older woman. At the headmistress' nod, Fleur asked, "Minerva, what 'ave you 'eard about the note I received?"

McGonagall looked down her nose at Fleur from two steps up. She wasn't that much taller than Fleur, but from her position she was able make Fleur feel like she was five years old and getting into trouble with her mother for the first time. "Nothing, only that Filius received one too," she said quietly, her eyes flicking around the vast expanse of the room. Fleur thought she looked nervous, but held her tongue.

Fleur nodded resolutely. "Ah," she said quietly after a moment of flicking nervous eyes around the room and at each other. "Will you tell me if you find anything?"

The headmistress nodded and turned to leave, saying over her shoulder, "Certainly Fleur."

It was strange for her to be so quiet and stand-offish, Fleur thought as she climbed the stairs behind McGonagall. The woman was usually at least a little bit friendly and welcoming, even if she was mildly terrifying in her own right. Fleur frowned, and wondered what could be so bad about that note that the headmistress was fearful of talking to her about it.

"Minerva," she began again as they reached the top of the stairs. "I am pure blood – the veela is not frowned upon as a muggle would be 'ere. Why is this happening?"

The rigid set of the older woman's shoulders noticeable through her over robe and dress. Fleur frowned slightly and climbed the final step and reached out to touch her shoulder – now that they were on equal footing, they were close to the same height.

"Fleur," McGonagall began quietly, raising her shoulder to dislodge it from Fleur's tentative grip. "This is not the first threat that's been received. Just the first one that was sent directly to you."

"What? Why was I not told?" Fleur demanded, her voice raising as she met McGonagall's impassive stare with flashing bright blue eyes. The veela was upset, and there was gold around the edges of her vision. No one insulted her heritage outside of Fleur herself – it was not done, and Fleur was a special case in that she actively rejected that part of herself – she did not outright insult the veela.

"It was need to know. Order of the Phoenix need to know." McGonagall hissed, narrowing her eyes and looking decidedly predatory and feline.

Fleur felt her face pull downwards, a snarl of her own escaping her lips before she could contain it. How could they have not told her? Threats to her life and they did not tell her? "Does 'arry know?" She ground out. Harry Potter was not one to take kindly to people being left out of the loop.

"He will be informed of it at the next meeting," The response came tersely. "Someone is actively trying to block the Minister for Magic's elimination of the magical creature laws with a public referendum. It now appears that the vote will take place and that the public supports the measure – and now those who oppose it are taking matters into their own hands."

Fleur felt the color drain from her face. They had just defeated the Dark Lord, it was too soon for there to be another one, too soon for there to be another evil force that was deeply invested in making their lives miserable. She stood there, staring at McGonagall with her mouth open for a long time before the words finally came to her. "What are we doing about this?" she finally asked. "They 'ave insulted me. My 'eritage, 'onor and my grandmere. I will destroy them."

Family, after all, is as tantamount as life itself to a veela.

McGonagall looked at her with an expression of almost pity. "The meeting is in the usual place Sunday next. Be there and we will see what we can do."

Fleur nodded jerkily and turned to walk away, not trusting herself to speak when the headmistress continued, "Oh, and Fleur? Don't do anything rash, we have an ally in this investigation that I would rather not lose."


	15. Act Two, Scene Two

**Golden Haze – Act Two, Scene Two**

**AN: **_Sorry for the delay with this, my personal life has officially blown up in my face and I'm trying to sort through some stuff, plus I have to look for a job for the first time in six months as the position that I was working since June abruptly ended. And I was let go with no warning and with no plan in place and probably no potential to get unemployment out of it. Shit blows, oh well. Don't know how regular the updates are going to be until I find a job and steady income once again._

_The poem that is mentioned about halfway through is "Almost Perfect But Not Quite" by Shel Silverstein._

Music of the Story: Bob Dylan and David Bowie

* * *

Sitting on her couch with a large flat book full of pictures of architecture in Paris on her lap as a makeshift desk, Fleur turned the parchment in front of her over and over in her hands. She was debating writing Gabrielle back and informing her that she could get herself into divination classes a year early as she apparently had quite the talent for predicting the future. Her eyes kept flicking towards the clock in the corner, sitting at the back of her real desk as if taunting her with its hard surface and excess of quills. She had sent a note to Hermione, after a moments debate and a rash decision to simply lay herself bare (at the veela's urging, naturally) before Hermione and let what happened happen.

She was nervous, fearful that she'd lose her nerve or do something rash like she'd done in the woods and in her rooms afterwards. She had liked that. Liked the feel of Hermione's lips against her own and the insistent pull of Hermione's hands in her hair. She had not had a chance to do that again, since that first time, and had barely had a chance to see Hermione at all with how hectic the past few days had been.

The note had been a desperate plea, one she was almost ashamed about sending – as she did not want Hermione to see her as weak or desperate. She had tucked it into the essay that she was handing back to Hermione along with the rest of her seventh year class on the principles of blood magic in the Dark Arts and how it could be manipulated for defensive purposes. It was Hermione's usual good work, but she could have done further research on a few points that she had mentioned as throw-away quick points before her conclusion. She had asked Hermione to come and see her after dinner, and had said that she had had something important to tell her. Fleur hoped it wasn't too cryptic; she'd had far too many cryptic notes recently to stand to send one herself.

Fleur folded her legs up under herself and frowned, staring out at the growing darkness outside of the window. She didn't want to tell Hermione about what William had said to her, or about the other note that she'd received, but McGonagall had implied that she was going to have to speak to the Order of the Phoenix as a whole about the notes she'd been receiving. Hermione was a member of the order and had been since the war had really kicked into high gear.

There was a quiet knock on her door and Fleur set the book that she had been using as a makeshift desk down on the ottoman in front of her and waited until the door started to open before speaking. A quiet smile and a feeling of contentment that came from being in Hermione's presence washed over her and Fleur hated how Hermione could wash away her personal insecurities just by being there. She wanted to be able to feel upset in Hermione's presence, to not have a goofy smile on her face and a flirtatious tone in her voice. That was the veela, it was all the veela. "I see that you got my note."

Hermione closed the door behind her with a resolute snap and pulled her school bag off of her shoulder and set it by the door. Her robes were wrinkled at the back where the strap had cut into the cloth across her back. She looked tired, Fleur thought as Hermione came to sit next to her on the couch. "You said that you had to talk to me about some things?" she asked.

"Perhaps…" Fleur trailed off, looking at Hermione's jeans and sweater with what she hoped was an appraising air. She must have gone up to the dormitory and changed before dinner, but had wisely kept her school robe on over her clothes as the castle was getting quite drafty as October drew to a close. She grinned just enough to flash her teeth at Hermione, white and predatory. "But first I want to kiss you."

"But…" Hermione began.

Fleur gave her a pointed look, as if daring her to refuse.

"Oh all right then," Hermione said and moved closer, her hair frizzing every which way. Fleur reached out to smooth it down, her fingers tangling up in the curly locks as she pulled Hermione forward, her lips brushing Hermione's cheek as their bodies came together. It was nice like this, Hermione's chest pressed against her own and Hermione's thighs pressed up against her own, stratling her and pushing warmth into Fleur's center.

Hermione kissed her shyly at first, her fingers tangling into Fleur's hair. Fleur pulled her closer, her hands pushing Hermione's robs out of the way to touch skin under sweater. She was so soft and so smooth and the way that her body moved under Fleur's fingers was exquisite. Fleur was still learning, the veela still teaching her, all the ways to touch Hermione to make her groan into their kisses, to incite reaction.

Fleur pushed her tongue into Hermione's mouth, her fingers pushing up and under Hermione's bra in the same motion. Hermione squirmed under her touch, trying to get closer. This was so nice, so wonderful, everything that Fleur had wanted for so many years. Her fingers touched soft skin and Fleur couldn't contain the guttural noises that welled up in her own throat. She moaned into the kiss and Hermione hummed back at her, hands playing with Fleur's hair and pressing their lips together.

This was how their meetings had been for the past few weeks, stolen passionate kisses, never further than Fleur's hands under Hermione's shirt. She wanted to go further, but wanted Hermione to know the truth about her heritage before they went any further. She knew that she was falling further with every passing moment, but also that she was giving herself the way out. She could survive a rejection, she was strong enough.

(Liar.)

She broke the kiss, her face suddenly falling and her feeling for the kiss completely gone. Fleur knew that she had to tell Hermione, there was no way to get around it.

"Fleur, what's wrong?" Hermione asked, sitting back on Fleur's lap, her hands detangling to rest on Fleur's shoulders and to play with the fabric of her top.

Before she could stop them, the lie tumbled out of her lips. "It is nothing." She regretted the words instantly, and hoped that Hermione could see through her omission.

Intelligent brown eyes surveyed her with interest and Hermione poked Fleur's cheek with her finger and asked in a serious tone, "Has anyone ever told you that you are a horrible liar?"

Fleur laughed. "Many times," She sighed, pulling Hermione back towards her so that Hermione's head was resting on her shoulder. This way she only had to talk to bushy hair and not those eyes that were so sure to fill with anger at Fleur's deceit. "'ermione, I – I do not know 'ow to begin," Her voice sounded alien and her tongue felt clumsy. Fleur longed to speak in French, her English was not good enough to actively convey her feelings at times.

"Is this about your heritage as a veela? It doesn't bother me, Fleur. I think it's rather dashing honestly." Hermione's voice was muffled by Fleur's shirt.

Fleur swallowed. "There is a bit of that, but it is not really that that is bothering me." She sighed broadly, and ran her hands up and down Hermione's back, looking for strength in the motion. "I received a note on Thursday. Two notes, actually. A note that threatened me and a note that threatens to ruin my life."

"What?" Hermione stilled under her hands.

Taking a deep breath, Fleur took the plunge, speaking as concisely as she could. She did not want to drag out this conversation with the finesse of language. "You know 'ow the laws are right now, 'ere in England. I married William for the protection that the Weasley name 'ad to offer and also to give 'im some freedom of 'is own. 'e is the 'eir, I am a magical creature in the eyes of the law."

Hermione sat up, and Fleur found herself looking into Hermione's eyes yet again. They looked angry and confused looking. "Barbaric…" Hermione intoned her eyes wide. She shook her head as her mouth pulled into a frown of disapproval. "Simply barbaric." Fleur was again reminded that where Hermione came from, these laws were alien and unpleasant – for muggles had long since gotten out of the practice of marrying their children off with hopes of continuing family lines. It was so easy to forget with Hermione, to forget their different upbringings and childhoods and think of themselves as essentially the same. Fleur knew it was wrong to do that, but she could not help it.

"It is not so bad, I do love William dearly as one does love their best friend, but it is not going well. Arthur Weasley is under pressure at work, to 'ave 'is 'eir 'ave an 'eir." Fleur brushed a stray lock of hair off of Hermione's forehead and didn't meet her eyes as she spoke. It was so selfish of William to ask for such a thing, and it was horrible that she was even considering doing such a thing for him. The laws had to be changed and soon, it was in the _Prophet,_ they were working on it.

_At a snail's pace._

Still, the question of children raised one in her own mind. Veela loved children, and her heritage had predisposed her to wanting them. The logistics, with a chosen mate such as Hermione became a little bit more complicated, but it was still possible. In several years. When their lives had calmed down and the laws had become more relaxed and they certainly would not have to deal with the troublesome fact that Fleur was still legally married to her best friend.

"They want you to have a baby?" Hermione's frown deepened, the unspoken question of if Fleur could be forced into bearing a child hovering on her lips as if she was afraid that voicing it would give it credence.

Fleur closed her eyes and sadly nodded. "Yes, but I cannot do it. Veela do not work that way. To have someone other than my mate's baby would drive me to the point of insanity and I would murder the child before it reached one year old."

"Then why even ask?" Hermione demanded, her eyes flashing dangerously. "It's rather cowardly, I think."

Fleur shrugged, it was cowardly, but it was the reality of their situation. They had to deal with it, there was no avoiding that. "That is what I need to talk to you about." She said, placing a placating hand on Hermione's shoulder. "You have to understand William. 'e is not really in a position where 'e can fight what Arthur and Molly say. Not until 'e has an 'eir."

Hermione frowned, her face pulling downward in a disapproving look that Fleur had seen many a time when she spoke to her friends. "Why should you be expected to have the child?"

Fleur shook her head, "It is, sadly, what I signed up for when I agreed to this farce."

"But it's not your place, fixing his problems," Hermione protested.

Fleur smiled sadly and shrugged. "It is how the laws are now, but that is not really what I 'ad wanted to talk to you about."

She looked adorably confused, her brow furrowed as Fleur talked her in circles. Fleur felt accomplished, as Hermione was far too smart to get turned around in verbal and mental circles like this. Finally, after a moment of though, Hermione asked, "Was this about the other note?"

(Almost perfect, but not quite.) Fleur would have rolled her eyes at the veela if at all possible, quoting American poetry that she read as a young child. That was not quite what she had been going for, but Hermione had come to almost the correct conclusion. "Yes, but this first," She smiled.

"Alright."

Fleur took a deep breath. This was the moment that she had been waiting for, the final revalation of truth and complete honesty. _Merlin, _how she hoped that Hermione would understand what she was saying and not react badly to it. Fleur knew that she could handle the rejection in time, but she did not know how she – how the veela – would react in the short term. It was still so new, being so close to that aspect of her person. She still hated it, hated the veela, but just being with Hermione made it somehow alright. "'ermione, I do not know how to begin to tell you the lengths at which I would go for you. You – who I met when I was seventeen and knew even then that I 'ad to 'ave you." "You drew the veela in. You made it content and made me feel full again."

Hermione's face, if it was possible, became more confused. She took a moment to pick the words, before eventually saying, "I hated you in fourth year – how did thi-?"

Fleur cut her off. "I know – I tried to pretend that I did not know, but when you were 'urt last year I came to the conclusion that I could not cower in fear of this anymore."

"What…" Hermione hesitated. "What am I to you?"

"You are mate. You are lover. You are the one." The words came easily, for Fleur had known for many years how she would describe these feelings for Hermione when the time finally came. Just to say the words was overwhelming, relief flooding over her at the same time that terror gripped her very being. She could not stop now, she had to finish, to get it all out before she braced herself for Hermione's reaction. "I love you with all my heart and I cannot stop myself from doing it."

Hermione leaned forward and kissed her, a gentle brush of lips and a pleasant reassurance to the fear that gripped the pit of Fleur's stomach. "This is so new. But I think I … I think can live with that."

Fleur could do little to keep the relief off of her face as the tension that she had felt across her body receded slowly away into nothingness. Hermione was alright with it, the way it was. They could figure out the child thing together. Sometime later, when things were not feeling quite so dire. Yes, they'd figure out how to avoid getting William disowned from his family at a later date – a much later date. "That is good then," she said quietly, a smile playing about her lips.

They were silent for a minute, Hermione distractedly braiding a few strands of Fleur's hair and leaning against Fleur's chest. It was comfortable here, like this. Alone with each other. Fleur loved these moments, for here the silence was tantamount, and they were truly completely and utterly content with each other. "What was the other note?"

Damn, Fleur had hoped she'd forgotten about the other note. She shook her head, knowing that Hermione was far too sharp to have missed something like that. "Promise me that you will not do anything rash."

"Why?" Hermione asked, eyes full of questions that Fleur did not really want to answer. The veela would make her tell, she could never lie to Hermione – or if she did it would be incredibly poorly.

"The note… it was as threat. Against me. Flilus – Professor Flitwick – got one too, as I am sure anyone else in the school who 'as less than pure wizarding blood in them did."

"I didn't…" Hermione began, her mind almost immediately jumping to the conclusion that so many others had to already come to. This was not the issue – it was the creature blood and the fact that it was someone who didn't understand the fact that creature blood would not be an issue to even the most staunch of pureblood supporters.

"I do not think the issue is being muggleborn, but rather being descended from a magical creature." Fleur said quietly, hating the assumption, but knowing it was a common one.

"Oh." Hermione blinked and looked apologetic. Concern colored her features and she asked, "Are you okay? Do they know who did it?"

"Right now? I am alright, I 'ave a lot to think about it." Fleur shrugged in an exaggerated motion and pulled Hermione closer to her, grateful for the warmth. She paused, her face pensive for a moment before continuing. She was not sure how much was appropriate to share with Hermione, but realized in the same breath that she would know about it anyway, because Harry Potter, if not Hermione herself were members, "The Order, under McGonagall's direction, is looking into it. They 'ave someone with inside information…"

x

While Fleur had never been officially named a member of the Order of the Phoenix, William was a member and she usually tagged along with him to the meetings for solidarity's sake. This time, however, her presence was requested by the group as a whole. She was uneasy as she left the school that night, fully aware that Hermione and Harry Potter and probably Ron Weasley (since one was never without the others) would be there at the meeting and she had not been entirely honest with Hermione about the exact nature of the notes. She had assumed that being vague would be smarter, but they had kept coming, and the threats were now accompanied by simple, yet nasty jinxes. It was only through force of habit that Fleur did not have acid scars on her hands now, as cursebreakers regularly scanned everything with diagnostic spells – mail was no exception to this rule.

That envelope had come in with the newspaper, inviting her presence at the next meeting of the Order of the Phoenix. The location would follow shortly, the note had said before bursting into flames. It had been folded carefully inside the A section of the paper so as to escape the scrutiny of the mail screeners that the Ministry had assigned to Hogwarts after the first acid spell had caught a fifth year Slytherin boy unawares. He would have scars all up and down his arms for the rest of his life, but at least his attack got the school governors involved and with them came the full force of the Ministry.

Fleur had been uneasy about the invasion of her privacy that came with the mail screeners, but eventually came to the conclusion that it was for the greater good. McGonagall had told her to cooperate fully with the Ministry and had had her talk to some of the school governors about her heritage when they descended upon the school en masse. It had been then that Fleur had found herself face to face with a woman who shared her complexion and who was apparently Draco Malfoy's mother. She hadn't known what to say to Mrs. Malfoy, or even known that she was a governor of the school in the first place. She had been so fidgety that Mrs. Malfoy had snapped after Fleur had been sitting across a table in one of the school's many guest chambers for under a minute, "Relax girl, I do not want you removed from your post. We share common ancestry enough for me to tell that you are bonded and therefore not a threat to any of the students here."

She had nodded weakly at that and had asked how the investigation was going, to which Mrs. Malfoy had informed her that there was very little progress and even if they had been, she probably would not have been informed, as her husband was technically the member of the board of governors and she was simply filling in for him while he was away. Fleur knew that by 'away' Mrs. Malfoy had meant 'on trial for death eater activities perpetuated over the past twenty years', but did not comment on that.

Still, the entire situation had been surreal. Mrs. Malfoy had looked down her nose at Fleur who had returned the gesture with the same practiced air that Mrs. Malfoy had apparently mastered. Veela blood, after all, produced similar mannerisms in anyone it tainted. They hadn't said much, just discussed with some trepidation the weather and how Draco Malfoy was doing in her class.

"What you need to understand, Madame Malfoy," Fleur had explained coolly after a question regarding Draco's latest practical exam, "is that your son 'as considerable knowledge of the Dark Arts but little practical knowledge of defense against them." Mrs. Malfoy had sniffed and blamed the lack of consistent professors in the subject for his lack of skill before bidding Fleur a rather tight-lipped goodbye. Fleur had resolved then to speak to Draco Malfoy about potentially joining Harry Potter's defense club to raise his practical scores but had lost her ability to do that when the owl informing her of the meeting's location and time had landed unceremoniously in a wet heap on her desk ten minutes before her seventh year class was slated to end. She had taken the soggy parchment from the owl and dismissed the class in one fluid motion, watching as they filed out with narrowed eyes until only Hermione remained.

"Is that the date of the next meeting?" Hermione had asked, coming to stand a little too close to Fleur, her eyes bright with question. Fleur whispered detection spells over the parchment and when they sang true, she broke the wax seal on the back of the letter and read quickly. The next meeting was that night, after dinner and after curfew. Wordlessly, Fleur had handed the note to Hermione and had begun to gather her things.

x

The back room at the bar that they had chosen to meet at was dingy and Fleur wrinkled her nose and ducked her head as she stepped down into the room. It smelled of stale beer and mildew in that room, along with the strong smell sweat. Several lanterns rested on barrels and far too many people were crammed into this small space, sitting on crates and looking grim. She made her way through to the back of the room and settled on a barrel next to Hermione who gave her a thin lipped smile in greeting.

"Salut," Fleur had said quietly to Hermione's smile. They had come separately, pretending that they had not spent the time before departing from the school in each other's arms. Fleur thought she was quite a good actress, as being around Hermione was constantly setting all of her senses on edge. "Am I early?"

"A little," Hermione had muttered back at her, her eyes fixed on the door. Fleur had seen Harry Potter and Ron Weasley outside at the bar, talking to William and Andromeda Tonks – who had apparently brought Teddy Lupin along to the meeting so that Harry could see him. She had nodded at them when coming in, but had had little interest in speaking with William after their _encounter_.

Fleur followed Hermione's thin lipped angry glare across the room to another corner, where the stark blond Draco Malfoy sat talking rather animatedly with an older auror that she'd met at several of these meetings in the past named Dawlish. She swallowed, knowing something of the bad blood between the two of them. She reached out; brushing hesitant fingers against the small of Hermione's back, trying to be wordlessly reassuring.

(Don't make a scene, beautiful one.)

Hermione's shoulders were hunched and Fleur's eyes narrowed as she stared across the room as it continued to fill up, watching Draco Malfoy speak quietly with the Auror Dawlish as though he was completely at home in a place where he would have been killed had it been even half a year earlier. He was waving his arms around and Hermione's fingers were clenched tightly around her wand.

"Don't," Fleur whispered quietly in her ear, withdrawing her hand from Hermione's back and indicating with her head that Harry Potter and the rest of those that lingered outside were beginning to file in. Harry held Teddy Lupin in his arms with the self-conscious air of a man who has no idea of how to hold a young child as he raised his eyebrows at Draco Malfoy and came to stand near to the far corner where Fleur and Hermione were waiting.

Hermione turned, her eyes flashing dangerously in the half-light as she hissed, none-too-quietly in Harry Potter's direction, "What is _he _doing here?"

"Relax Granger," There was something infuriating about the way that Draco Malfoy talked; Fleur had never realized this before today. He talked as though he owned everyone in the room and that they should all bow down to him. The arrogance, despite how his family had been shamed during the war. Fleur's eyes narrowed as he continued, "this is relevant to me as well, I think I know who's behind these threats that you all, as well as I, have been receiving."

Fleur bit her tongue, marveling at the fact that he had not come out and outright said that he had creature blood.

Ron Weasley let out of a snort of laughter, and Fleur was grateful that many of the others in the room were choosing to ignore this pretty school rivalry. This was common, from what Fleur had seen at the other meetings that she'd been to, they weren't the most cohesive bunch of individuals. Many of them did not like each other for various other reasons in their lives, but their hatred of Voldemort was enough to bring them mostly together and did facilitate some level of teamwork among them. "Wait, _Malfoy_, pure-blood-fanatic-former-Death-Eater-Malfoy, has creature blood in him?" Ron's eyes gleamed with laughter, but there was no malice there. "This is too good, I'm going to die laughing."

Draco Malfoy looked affronted, "Shut it weasel." He snapped, folding his arms across his chest and looking far too aristocratic for his situation. Fleur wondered just how much veela blood there was in him, as he was putting the veela in her on edge and making her feel all territorial and offended that he was insulting such a close friend of her mate (and her best friend and confidant to whom she currently was not speaking's brother). Fleur bit her lip as Malfoy continued, knowing that she was going to say something she would later regret if she spoke now. "I came here because I think I know who is doing this."

"Your da's buddies, you mean?" Ron shot back.

Draco Malfoy lunched forward, but Dawlish grabbed him by the back of his robes. "Tha'll do, lad," The older man's voice was gravely and scratchy – like a man who had smoked far too many cigarettes in his life.

"Ron, stop," Harry said, bouncing Teddy Lupin (currently cooing happily as he smacked at a bunch of garlic that was hanging from the low ceiling of the room) up and down.

"But Harry…" Ron muttered. Harry gave him a look.

"I doubt it's his dad's friends," Hermione spoke again and Fleur found herself staring at her with a mixture of shock and pride. This, this is what the veela had fallen in love with, the girl who was a born politican (may she never pursue that career path, ever) and who could charm with the best of them if she was so inclined. Fleur wondered where the skill had come from, but given how Hermione was constantly under pressure to perform as a muggleborn witch, she supposed that Hermione had mastered the skill a long time ago. Hermione continued, speaking to Malfoy in a civil tone that made the blond haired man look nervous, "Malfoy, I don't like the idea of working with you very much, but if you have anything that can help us get to the bottom of this before someone gets hurt…"

"It's too late for that." The voice of Minerva McGonagall cut through the room and all conversation immediately ceased. Fleur wondered how many in this room had had her as professor at one point or another and thought of her own classes. She wished that she had the ability to control a room like that with the commanding power of one who knows exactly what she wants and how to convey her points succinctly.

"Professor?'

"Minerva?"

McGonagall looked shaken in the half light, little wisps of her hair coming out of its severe bun and her scarf and cloak slightly askew. Her cheeks were flushed as though she had been running – or at least walking briskly – Fleur wasn't sure that McGonagall would ever run. "Albert Stinewell, noted singer, and part harpy, was killed a few hours ago. Aurors are on the scene now but there was another note addressed to them waiting for them." She took a breath, "It claimed that more would fall."

"Is Hogwarts safe? Could we gather everyone there?" Harry Potter's voice cut thought the silence that followed McGonagall's pronouncement and Fleur's own panicked thoughts about what might happen if she ended up as a target. Her veela blood was pure enough that she could still shift, still kill like the creature that her grandmother was. If threatened, that was exactly what she would do and she did not want anyone in this room harboring impressions otherwise. She was a veela, the golden haze surrounded and blessed her, she would protect those important to her.

"Mister Potter, I don't think you realize just how many wizards living in this country have some sort of relation who was a magical creature of one sort or another," McGonagall shook her head and someone muttered something about not paying attention in school. "This is not a mere handful of people, but thousands. It is quite common."

Harry bounced Teddy again, his brow furrowed as the baby gurgled happily. "Then why attack them?"

Draco Malfoy gave a snot of laughter that drew much of the room's eyes onto him. He folded his arms across his chest and drawled, "Human mania, Potter."

"I didn't ask you, Malfoy." Harry ground out – his tone suggesting that it would not be smart to continue speaking to him in such tones. Fleur's eyes narrowed, watching the body language between the two of them, she could see a grudging respect that she didn't think was there when she had last seen them together, when she was seventeen and had witnessed Draco Malfoy transfigured into a ferret bouncing through the air. They had hated each other then, on two different sides of the war that neither of them had chosen to be involved with.

Fleur thought back to that time at Shell Cottage, when Harry and Ron had told them about what had happened at Malfoy Manor, how Draco Malfoy had saved their lives. They had been so dumbfounded that he would do that, considering the situation Draco had been in for much of the war. Fleur thought it was honorable and said a lot about where the Malfoy's loyalties actually lay, with family as was the tendency of those with veela blood. She had held her tongue though, letting Harry and Ron rehash what had happened to William and marveling at how Malfoy wasn't as bad a guy as they apparently thought he was.

"Human mania?" Hermione asked quietly from Fleur's side. They had been trying to not touch each other too much, or too look too much like they hadn't spent the time leading up to this meeting on Fleur's couch with Fleur's hands up Hermione's shirt. Just thinking about those stolen moments of gentle touches and long kisses had been enough to make Fleur swallow hotly and flush, grateful for the half-light.

"Many wizards, especially those who are not touched by magical creature blood, are wary of it. Muggleborns especially do not understand it – as they see magical creatures as beasts rather than humanoid beings with perfectly functional reproductive bits." Auror Dawlish said in his scratchy voice.

"They're not though." Hermione protested.

"This is why, Granger, you are _slightly_ better than many of your muggleborn compatriots." Draco Malfoy said with a grimace. Fleur bristled, insulted for Hermione. "I wouldn't be surprised if this was backlash against those who sympathized with the Dark Lord as they're all probably at least some part magical creature."

"They deserve the backlash." Someone in the back wearing a long cloak and a scowl ground out. Fleur had seen him several times and knew that he worked in the ministry with William's father and shared a lot of his politics. She frowned, wondering if the fact that a great number of people who _did not_ support Voldemort who happened to share creature blood would deter his argument. The words, the cutting retort to his comment, were on the tip of her tongue when Harry Potter cut her off.

"No one deserves to get killed." He said in even tones. He looked to McGonagall and to Auror Dawlish, as they were the most senior members of the order now that Dumbledore and Severus Snape were dead. "Can we do anything about it?"

McGonagall nodded with her usual tight-lipped smile before she spoke. "We are going to look into some connections first. The Ministry is treading carefully with this as the proportion of purebloods to muggleborn witches and wizards is vastly skewed in the direction of the muggleborns – any action by the ministry that is considered anti-muggleborn in _any_ way, will have massive fallout." Those in the room nodded and Fleur realized just how precarious a position the Minister for Magic was in. He could not, emphatically, anger the muggleborn population with legislation right now that could be perceived as a threat. "You are all now in school, Harry. You can't do anything until the holidays anyway."

Teddy Lupin hiccuped loudly and Harry looked at him with concern that drew a small smile across Fleur's face before he turned and demanded to the room at large. "But what if they attack before then? What if they attack _Hogwarts?"_

_They won't attack the school. Not again._

_They won't attack Hermione. Not again._


	16. Act Two, Scene Three

**Golden Haze – Act Two, Scene Three**

AN – The lack of response on the previous chapter – really the previous two chapters has frankly bothered me. I have started to write the real core of the plot of the story and suddenly it seems that no one is as interested in leaving feedback. The hits are the same, so I know people are still reading it, is it really that bad? I really hope that that's not the case, I was trying to not write the same boring and cookie-cutter story that everyone else did. Please let me know if what I'm doing is wrong.

Music of the Story – Death Cab For Cutie

* * *

The notes kept coming, the curses upon them more and more complex. Fleur had taken to simply not opening her mail. William and Gabrielle had both started to send their letters through the floo network so as to avoid the mail screeners and with them the threat to Fleur in even opening her mail. She was grateful that they were so willing to work with her about this – Gabrielle protesting violently as use of the floos was restricted at Beauxbatons as it was at Hogwarts. She had to sneak into a professor's office after hours to send Fleur her mail and apparently this was very much frowned upon.

Fleur had no idea about that, as her time in school had been spent frolicking with her friends and certainly not mischief making. Certainly not. She had shaken her head when Gabrielle's words nearly jumped off the page, demanding better technique for sneaking around the Beauxbatons grounds (As she was absolutely positive that Fleur knew how to do it and was better at it than her). Fleur had promised her mother to keep her less than savory adventures at school from Gabrielle until she was older and had been established as a better (more well-behaved) student than Fleur had been.

Standing in front of her seventh year class the Friday before Halloween, Fleur found herself watching the students with interest. They were looking at her as though she was insane. She had a knife in her hand and was in the process of explaining how the addition of blood to a spell used for defense made it only nominally more powerful, but in creating wards and protections, the use of blood amplified the effects of the spell significantly.

On her desk was a box filled with chocolate galleons, their gold foil wrappers twinkling in the late autumn sunlight that streamed in through the classroom windows. It was beautiful outside today – and Fleur longed to go for a walk out of doors among the changing leaves before it weather again turned nasty as it so often was in Northern Scotland at this time of year. Fleur had drawn a circle around the box in chalk.

"Now," She began, the knife resting easily between two fingers in her right hand. "When one is going to create a ward such as this – to protect an important object – what is the proper pattern for the ward?" She raised her eyes to stare at the class. Hermione's quill was positioned over her parchment, in mid stroke as Fleur's eyes met her own. Bright brown eyes smiled at her warmly and Fleur knew that her control would falter soon. She had been trying to keep herself in check around Hermione, to not express the full extent of her emotions since she had revealed how she deep her emotions were for Hermione.

But to see her, here, like this, hanging on Fleur's every word was almost too much for Fleur. She wanted to get her alone, to press her up against the desk and have her. The veela's grip on her emotions was getting stronger and Fleur was certainly not opposed to its ideas. Still the haze constantly pressing against her vision was distracting, and the thoughts of Hermione, constantly of Hermione were driving her to the point of distraction.

She wanted to touch that skin, to remove clothes and to kiss her properly. The haze pressed in tight around her vision and Fleur swallowed, closing her eyes briefly and thinking of dead kittens and that battle during the war – anything to clear her mind of wanting to take Hermione in front of the class as though they were no there.

A few students tentatively raised their hands, but most of them simply looked longingly out the window at the beautiful weather. She cocked and eyebrow and pointed, knife outstretched in front of her, "Monsieur Longbottom, hum? What pattern?"

Neville Longbottom jumped ever so slightly, tearing his eyes away from the window, "Huh? What? Sorry Professor, It would be a six pointed star, I think."

Fleur smiled, glad that he was at least paying attention. "And why not a pentagram, which would be what an inexperienced person would most likely use in such a situation?" It was a leading question, but she planned on having a question about this on the test that was slated for two weeks from now. She wanted to give them the best chance possible at succeeding, as the NEWTs would not be so forgiving.

"Because a pentagram has a weak point, ma'am." One of the Hufflepuffs, Susan Bones, said. Fleur nodded at her and she continued, "If one applies enough pressure to the points, a well-placed blasting spell could easily get through even the most complex of magic."

"Exactement," Fleur nodded. "Five points to Hufflepuff, Mademoiselle Bones." She flicked her wand in the direction of the chalkboard and more information with the various ward patters appeared there in her neat script. The room hurried to write down the notes and Fleur continued, "The two interlocking triangles of a six-pointed star make the form that much 'arder to break."

The class appeared to be hanging on her every word. Fleur bit the inside of her lip and drew the knife very slowly across her finger tip, blood welling up from the wound. She hated doing this, blood wards were something that she had never been exactly _good _at per say, just good enough that she could get away with teaching them in such a setting. "One wants to always draw in a counterclockwise motion," she said, tracing her wounded finger over her desk in the requisite pattern. She closed her fist over the box and whispered the words to the seal the spell.

Smiling, she transfigured a piece of paper into a bandage and wrapped it around her finger, "Now, who would like to try breaking this ward?"

x

After class, Fleur found herself sitting perfectly still behind her desk, her eyes trained on the door as the students left. "Granger," She said quietly as Hermione too stood to join them, "A moment?" She had been struggling to control herself since the veela had started to press against her consciousness in the middle of class.

Hermione hung back, taking time with her bag and watching as the room slowly emptied. The last student hurried out the door and Fleur flicked her wand at the door and it swung shut. A closed classroom door usually guaranteed privacy, but Fleur was not taking any chances. Two curses came to mind and she cast them in quick succession. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Hermione gulp.

_Excellent,_ Fleur thought darkly, standing and shrugging off her over robe. The room had grown warmer as the day had progressed and Fleur had become more and more distracted, stealing sideways glances at Hermione's always intense and focused face whenever she thought she could get away with it. Fleur felt more comfortable now, in her collared shirt that was a little bit too big, she didn't feel like a teacher any more. She was just Fleur, the girl who was digging herself a deeper and deeper into a hole that she didn't see a way out of.

"It is rather warm in 'ere, non?" Fleur asked, folding up her over robe neatly and tucking it into her bag.

Hermione looked up from her own bag, fastening the clip with deft fingers and setting it back down on the ground before saying airily, "I wouldn't say that, professor." She smiled ever so slightly, in that flirty way that Fleur had come to recognize as a sign that Hermione was indeed interested in more than just simple flirting.

Fleur had relished the moment she had discovered that, Hermione flashing that smile and then coming early to class one day to spell the door shut and pin Fleur against it and kiss her. That had been a flurry of motion and hands in places Fleur was still coming to know how to find on Hermione, but an educational experience to say the least.

"Oh?" Fleur asked, crossing the room in quick steps to lean against the desks in front of the row where Hermione sat. She was sitting on the desk now (something Fleur really should have said something to her about, being as it was against school rules) watching Fleur with interested eyes.

Fleur felt scrutinized by Hermione's stare – naked and knowing that she could not hide anything from Hermione for long. The girl was too perceptive and the veela would not let Fleur lie to her. She was completely debilitated around Hermione, and Fleur knew she was simply begging for more. "Then why do you think the temperature has risen so much during the course of the class?"

"I haven't the faintest." Hermione said, looking down at her hands. She was suddenly very interested in her nails and not in Fleur.

"Really, 'ow sure are you of this pronouncement?" She trailed a finger down the undone buttons of Hermione's shirt, watching as brown eyes vanished behind the swollen pupils of arousal. Fleur knew the veela was trying, struggling to grip her consciousness and to take control. She bit her tongue, a slow smile moving across her face as she shoved the veela back. Someday soon she would lose control and take Hermione with its powers, but not now. Now she had control, she had the pull of the veela in check and she was doing this to Hermione entirely of her own accord.

Hermione's shoulders came up in a truly elaborate gesture of a shrug, her school robes falling off her sloped shoulders and essentially trapping her arms behind her back – tangled up in fabric. She looked down, pulling on the sleeve with one hand, struggling to free herself.

"Stop," Fleur growled, her voice sounding alien to herself and her control growing ever weaker.

Her hands still tangled in the fabric of her robe, Hermione looked up at Fleur, her lips slightly parted. "Why?"

Fleur smiled and leaned forward, pressing her lips chastely against Hermione's. She met Hermione's eyes with a smile in her own, loving how Hermione had just stopped and had let her do what she wanted. She liked that control, but it scared her. Was this the veela's pull, the constant push for compatibility with one's mate? She shoved the thought away almost as quickly as it occurred to her; this was not the time to worry about such things. "You are beautiful like that, trapped and at my mercy," she breathed, unable to trust her voice to speak any louder. She'd never said something like that before, and her experience with such words with sorely lacking.

"Fleur, I…" Hermione started, but Fleur placed a finger over her lips.

"Quiet now, beautiful one. I 'ave waited far too long to touch you." She paused, her hands hovering at Hermione's shoulders, her trapped arms, anywhere she could touch without going too far without permission. She did not want to push Hermione, no matter how much her own body longed for Hermione's – it wasn't right, they were still too new, and Fleur had only recently been completely honest with Hermione about her heritage. "Will you let me?" She nipped at Hermione's ear, enjoying how she squirmed at the gesture.

"Please." Hermione said, turning her head so that she could meet Fleur's eyes. There was desire there, and permission, the permission that Fleur had been looking for.

Fleur leaned in and claimed Hermione's lips, her hands tangling in Hermione's hair, pulling her closer. "When a veela is in love," she whispered, breathless as she pulled away for air. She leaned in, kissing her again, her tongue slipping into Hermione's mouth – meeting her own and pressing greedily in for more. Again, she found herself pulling away from that kiss, that intoxicating kiss. She had to finish what she had started. "The pull towards their mate is constant," she said, brushing her thumb over Hermione's cheek. "Does it entice you, this pull?" The question was off her lips and Fleur felt her control again falter. The mere admission of the existence of the pull was enough to draw it out of her. She should have known better.

Her grandmother had told her long ago that she was lucky to only be a part Veela. That she did not have the control of the mental fortitude to be constantly assaulting others with the enticing thrall – the pull that drew others towards her. Fleur had told her then that she would never need to master that aspect of herself, as she was just a normal girl and certainly not a veela.

That had earned her a slap to the face.

The memory of her grandmother's hurt face and angry eyes burned into her memory as Fleur felt her cheeks burn. She had become the very person that she had so sworn not to become – the very creature that she had been so bent and determined to not let ruin her life. She had to get away, to think, to stop this before it got out of hand and she did something she'd later regret.

"Y-yes, Fleur, yes." Hermione's breathless voice pulled her back in, and the haze pressed against her vision, cloaking Hermione in a dazzlingly beautiful cape of positive emotion and love. Fleur knew she shouldn't – that she should back away now before it got any worse, before she wouldn't be able to stop.

She wanted Hermione. Oh, how she wanted her. Fleur could smell the want on Hermione's skin, on her own skin. The room smelled of sex and of sin and of everything that Fleur had promised herself that she would never give in to. She had kissed Hermione, had flirted with Hermione, had touched her and made her moan into sweet kisses. None of it was real though – Hermione was affected by the thrall of the veela. Fleur's traitorous heritage.

She searched for the words to explain this to Hermione. Hermione probably already knew, but Fleur knew that it would not be real unless she said it herself. Hermione had to hear it from her lips, or else it would just be one of those _academic_ things that Hermione studied in books that had no application to the real world.

Fleur took a deep breath, "There is an aspect to veela attraction that I 'ave so far managed to shield you from. I fear my control is failing now, and you will be feeling the effects soon."

Hermione's eyes narrowed for a moment, "You're not going to turn into full veela are you?" She asked it with a smile, but there was an anticipation that the veela in Fleur could detect.

(She wants it, give into it.)

_I will not._ Fleur thought violently, but knew that she was going to lose the battle. She did not have the mental fortitude. The pull had not been what had drawn Hermione in, but it was facilitating this encounter and Fleur did not think that she could stop now even if she tried. She rested her hands on Hermione's shoulders, her forehead pressed up against the warm skin of Hermione's own forehead.

"Non, 'ermione, non," The words tumbled out of her mouth with emotion that she did not think she could feel presently. The smell of Hermione was everywhere, her entire body was urging her to just give in. The closeness was too much, and with that her control was completely gone. Her hands pulled at the buttons of Hermione's shirt, her lips at Hermione's neck, biting the sensitive skin there. "It is simply becoming 'arder to resist you."

Hermione groaned and pushed herself against Fleur's hands. "Then don't," she hissed through clenched teeth, her voice thick with the passion that coursed through Fleur's body. "Give into it."

A guttural noise welled up in Fleur's throat and she pulled Hermione's shirt apart, buttons popping all over the floor and against the desks. She had lost her control, this was the veela. She let herself drown in the feeling of Hermione's skin under her hands. Her bra was gone, Fleur wasn't sure if it was non-verbal magic, or simply the veela's power and want. The skin that that infernal garment had hidden was so soft under her lips, growing harder under her hands, causing Hermione to groan loudly.

She pulled Hermione forward, closer to herself, and sank to her knees, kissing the exposed skin of Hermione's thighs, at the edge of her school skirt. She could smell Hermione's arousal now, and the scent drove her wild. Her hands were shaking, running up Hermione's thighs, touching places she had never quite had the courage to touch before. She had to have it, had to taste it.

Her fingers slipped past the last barrier between herself and her desires, pushing upwards curiously – loving how clearly aroused Hermione was.

"Please…" Hermione moaned as Fleur's curious fingers hit a particularly sensitive spot.

Fleur smiled, hooking her fingers around Hermione's underwear, and pulling them off completely. She was never one to deny such a wonderful request.

x

_Dearest Grandmere,_

_When I was fifteen you told me that you were glad that I would never be considered legally a full veela. That I could not handle the burden that comes with being one and that I would cave under the pressure. You were right. I have caved. _

_I am sure that maman has told you of Hermione – the girl that my heritage has decided on to be my mate. She and I are finally getting to know each other away from all of our previous engagements and could potentially even be considered courting. _

_She is surrounded by the haze, constantly. When I am around her, I cannot control myself. She is so beautiful, so intelligent, everything that I could possibly want in a mate, but I feel so uneasy around her. I had not wanted to take her as a veela would, in the heat of the moment and without the proper romancing, but now I feel I have lost that chance forever. _

_I know that we are not on the best terms with regards to my heritage and not wanting it to be a part of my life, but I do not know who else to turn to. Is there a way to control myself around Hermione so that I do not lose control again? Is there a way that I can begin to have control over the veela? _

_Your granddaughter,_

_Fleur_

x

_Sweet Fleur –_

_I feared for this ever since your mother mentioned to me that you were more willing and actively pursuing this girl. Your lack of acceptance of your heritage is largely to blame for this, and until you start to accept the fact that you are indeed of magical creature decent as much as you are of wizarding decent, not much can be done. There is so little that is written about those who chose to reject their heritage forthright instead of merely learning to cope with it. As you have chosen to do the former, I do not know what I can say to you other than that it wounds me deeply that you still fail to understand how vital an aspect of your life your heritage is. _

_You would not be you without my blood Fleur. Without my blood you would not share the looks of myself and your mother (though you do have your father's regrettable nose), you would not share the talent for magic or for learning. You would be a shadow of who you are now. It is unfair to us to see you reject us like this, as though we are meaningless in your life. I know for a fact that this is not the case, but your constant belittlement and denial has forced me to ends that I did not think possible. _

_The only advice I can give to you is that you must accept who you are. Converse with the creature within yourself, learn to coexist with it and to draw from its power when in times of need. Without it, you would surely be dead by now. Don't deny it, stick that pouting lip right back into your normal and pensive expression. There. I know you well Fleur, please don't forget this. You were never meant to reject yourself outright._

_Grandmere_

_PS – If I were you, I would find a quiet place to be alone with myself and meditate._


	17. Act Two, Scene Change One, Interlude

**Golden Haze – Act Two, Interlude One  
**

AN – Hey everyone, thought that you'd like to know that this chapter was HORRID to write. I wanted to do a scene with Hermione and Fleur from Hermione's perspective. So I did. Enjoy.

The feedback on the last chapter was amazing!

Music of the Story: Neon Trees & Passion Pitt

* * *

She had exited the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom in a hurry, Hermione Granger knew this. It probably had made her look very rude. She rationalized her actions and her hurried goodbye to her _– lover – _girlfriend. She wasn't ready to call Fleur that just yet. She had been too flustered, too completely undone and still incredibly aroused despite the fact that she had lost her control and had given in to Fleur's insistent and wonderful tongue. She did not know how that had happened – how she, _a prefect_ – had let that happen in a _classroom_ of all places. Fleur had been impossible to resist, and Hermione knew that even if the veela's thrall or whatever it was had indeed been in effect; she would not have been able to say no.

She fled to the library, as magically spelling the buttons back onto her shirt had proven unsuccessful  
(and she was positive that she was doing the spell correctly – thank you very much). Her shirt would no longer close properly and her school robes did not close completely enough to keep her decent, Hermione had 'borrowed' Fleur's sweater and had announced that she was going to go look up the spell to fix her shirt.

For future reference, yes that was it.

Alone among the stacks, she was finally able to calm herself enough to allow the analytical nature of her mind to take hold. Hermione was not entirely sure what had prompted that encounter between herself and Fleur, but she was most certainly positive she wanted it to happen again. And soon. She and Ron had never gotten that far and – regardless of her sense of decency – a classroom, surrounded by the smell of chalk and the spark of magic was oddly the most ideal place Hermione could think of to lose her virginity.

She swallowed hotly, the realization dawning on her like the press of that haze that Fleur had inflicted upon her with the Adamor spell. Wondering what had possessed her to completely and totally lose her control like that, Hermione ran back over the day's lesson in her head, trying to figure out what exactly _she_ had done to draw Fleur's attention in such a sexual manner.

The class had been mundane, Fleur's sweater had been a little too tight, showing off far too much of her chest and causing Hermione to want to slowly murder all of her classmates for the looks they were giving their professor. _Men_, she thought darkly, shaking her head even now at the thought of their vacant stares and obvious attempts to not be caught drooling. Fleur was _hers_ to look at, Hermione's and Hermione's alone. She should be the only one thinking that Fleur's sweater and the shirt underneath it had made her breasts look rather fantastic and enticing.

It was so easy for Hermione to get lost in her thoughts of Fleur. She still was not entirely sure what they were doing together, or if it was even what she wanted for herself. And yet, it was so easy to give herself over to Fleur's beauty and charm. It wasn't like it was with Ron and Harry; she didn't feel like it was her job to keep Fleur in line and actually doing what she was supposed to be doing. She could just kiss Fleur and forget about the fact that she was not speaking to her parents after rescuing them from their _oblivated_ state in Australia. Or that she was considered by many to be a heroine when she had never felt that heroic crawling through the woods with Harry and Ron, trying to stay alive. She could forget the fact that Fleur was, above all other things, married to her best friend's gay elder brother. She could forget that she had not been brought up thinking that kissing girls was okay.

She refused to admit it publicly, but escaping into thoughts such as the ones that now plagued her mind as she ran her fingers along the bookshelf in the far reaches of the library was a wonderful sensation. Doubt never plagued her in those thoughts, just fantasy and bewilderment as to what she had done to attract so wonderful a person to herself. She could be free here; she could let her mind wander to how beautiful Fleur had looked with her tongue buried in that forbidden place between Hermione's legs.

Hermione blushed furiously and straightened her unbuttoned shirt once again beneath Fleur's sweater. She was going to find a spell to fix the buttons on her shirt, not lose herself in fantasy. It was so hard now, Fleur had effectively ruined her ability to concentrate forever. She would have to say something to her about that, Hermione thought, her cheeks still red. She would have to tell Fleur that they would have to keep their liaisons to the weekends or else Hermione's grades would slip and she would not be able to revise for the NEWTs properly.

A breath of air, from deep within the library, brushed against Hermione's legs and reminded her of the other reason why she was reluctant to return to the Gryffindor common room.

Fleur Delacour, the evil seductress that she was, had kept her underwear.

x

Holding her skirt down firmly with one hand, Hermione kept her balance with the other as she carefully slid through the portrait hole behind the Fat Lady and into the Gryffindor Common Room. She closed her eyes and prayed to God or Merlin or anyone else that was listening that the common room would be blissfully empty and she could get upstairs to her dormitory without having to speak to anyone and deal with the utter mortification of knowing that she was out in public and not wearing any kickers.

The common room, for once, seemed to be agreeing with her. The fire had died down to a few embers and the lone lamp at the back of the room had burned low. Hermione made a mental note to refill it with oil in the morning as she hurriedly crossed the common room, intent on the door that lead to the stairs up to girl's dormitories.

A voice cut clear across the room and Hermione turned oh so slowly to see the brightly smiling face of one Harry Potter sitting on the sofa that had its back to the portrait hole (_he must have been lying down,_ Hermione reasoned, _or else I would have seen him._). His grin seemed to grow wider (or wickeder, Hermione wasn't sure) as he asked, "Hermione, why are you wearing Professor Delacour's sweater?"

_Bugger_.

Harry Potter, despite his intentional obtuse-ness at times, was far, far too observant for his own good. Hermione laughed, slightly hysterical at this turn of events. Had it been anyone else, she could have just brushed them off, said she had to go up to her room to get something, that she was tired – _anything _to get away. But not Harry Potter, if there was one person in the world Hermione knew she could not fool, Harry would be that person. It was uncanny, how well he knew her habits and how her little actions carried far more meaning that Hermione would ever willingly say.

She pulled her over robe more closely around herself, her cheeks flushed slightly with embarrassment and shrugged, balancing her bag carefully on her shoulder in a practiced motion as she did so. "No reason, I said I was cold, she loaned it to me," Harry's look was skeptical and Hermione hurriedly added, "She's very nice you know."

Raising an all-together too suggestive and highly inappropriate eyebrow, Harry drawled in a passible impression of Draco Malfoy, "Oh, I _know. Very_ agreeable, that Fleur Delacour."

Hermione wanted to _scream._ She folded her arms across her chest and glared at him. "Harry Potter I don't like your tone," she said in what she hoped was a passible impression of Professor McGonagall.

(It wasn't.)

Harry smiled and gestured for her to come and sit next to him. Hermione reasoned that at least sitting down, a sudden gust of wind wouldn't cause her to flash him or anyone else who might be lurking unseen in the shadows of the common room. He looked sheepish as she sat down and said without preamble, "You're a good hour late for curfew, Hermione."

And here she was thinking _she _was the prefect. Obviously Harry had taken over her job when she had been busy with Fleur. A brilliant blush blossomed across her face and Hermione buried her head in her hands. She was so completely and horribly transparent. Her voice was muffled by her arms when she spoke, "There were some questions… about our essay that was due." It sounded lame and Hermione hoped Harry would buy the excuse.

"Sure, Hermione," Harry said, leaning over and brushing a lock of hair away from her neck. "That's a lovely hickey on your neck, by the way."

"A what?" Hermione's hand flew to her neck as she mentally made a list of everyone that she had encountered earlier, she would have to modify all of their memories to not remember the mark that Fleur had left there. She swallowed, trying to remember if there was a spell that Lavender or Parvati or even Ginny had taught her when it came to these things when they were younger and not quite so plagued with the weight of the world resting on their shoulders. When they had just been able to be teenage girls.

She couldn't think of a single spell that would work on such a small scale. All the glamour charms that she knew were for full faces or body transformations. This was cosmetic at best. She frowned, her cheeks still bright red as she tried not to glare at Harry too much. She tried to feel where Fleur had left the mark. "Bugger, Harry, do you know a good concealing charm? I've never been that good at them."

Harry crossed his arms and shook his head. "That's rubbish and you know it."

Hermione frowned and realized that resisting her want to glare at him was completely futile. She gave Harry her best _look_, hoping that it would warm his stone heart and said quickly, "Just do it for me, okay, I don't want to mess it up."

Truth was, she had no idea where it was and didn't want to charm a part of her neck invisible by mistake. When Harry was learning to do this to conceal the scar on his forehead, he'd accidentally vanished half of his face because he was using a mirror and pointed his wand at the wrong side of his head. It had been amusing at the time, but now the idea of messing such a spell up and finding herself with a direct window into the inner workings of her larynx was rather unappealing.

Harry threw up his hands in defeat and pulled his wand out of his pocket. "Alright," he said, placing the tip of it on the tender spot where Fleur had lingered while her fingers had done unmentionable things below her skirt. Hermione swallowed hotly and Harry finished the spell with an extra prod to her neck with his wand. She had to stop thinking about Fleur, she wouldn't be able to think if she thought about Fleur, and Harry was looking at her with concerned eyes and an unreadable expression.

"Hermione, what were you up to in there?" he asked seriously.

"It's really none of your business." Hermione snapped before she could stop herself.

"It is if she's taking advantage of you because of that spell." Harry insisted.

Hermione sighed. The spell. The spell that had nothing to do with any of this anymore. It had given her a window into Fleur's tormented soul, and had marked her with the mark of a veela in the golden haze that she only now was able to see as surrendering to her own wild heart. She had not mentioned any of this to Harry or Ron after her initial tirade about how such a spell was _entirely_ unprofessional for use on a student.

No, she had decided to let this – whatever it was - between the two of them develop. It had been the smarter of the two options that she had been faced with at the time. She didn't think that Fleur would have really appreciated her writing a letter to Mrs. Weasley to complain about her daughter in law, and now it seemed like a colossally stupid idea.

She shook her head, wrapping her arms around herself and smiling a little at Harry in the half-light. It wasn't uncommon for them to end up like this, up late talking while Ron, Ginny and anyone else who happened to be studying with them went off to bed. This was the aspect of their friendship that Hermione liked the best, the quiet times when they could be alone together and just talk about anything under the sun that came to mind. "It isn't that." She explained. "The spell is there, but it just made me realize some things. About myself. I can see the haze that plagues Fleur constantly."

Harry raised a questioning eyebrow, "Haze?"

"She has veela blood, you know?" Harry nodded because Hermione did have a nack for stating the obvious in conversations like this. She knew she was verbose at times, but at this instance, Hermione did not care and continued, "Thing is, I really don't think she likes it that much, or at least isn't that comfortable with that aspect of her heritage." Harry looked intrigued but didn't say anything. "The Adamor Spell is meant to make one see how another sees you. When Fleur used it on me, it gave me a window into what she is going through when she's around me. There's a haze that comes over her vision – over my vision – when we're around each other."

"A haze?" Harry asked again.

"It's a golden haze." Hermione shrugged, she wasn't really sure how to describe it. It was the sort of thing that one had to experience in order to truly comprehend. "Makes your head feel fuzzy like you've been asleep for days."

Green eyes gleaming in the half-light of the lamp, Harry muttered, "Wicked…" They were silent for a minute before he said abruptly, "Or rather, how can you concentrate in her class?"

That was a very good question. "I have no idea," Hermione answered honestly, "it comes in spurts."

Today in class, however, she had been very much unable to concentrate after Fleur had set up that ward and they had gone about attempting to break it. There was just something that had happened at that moment that had made her mind go somewhere else entirely, Hermione could not put her finger on what it was, but she resolved to ask Fleur about it when she next had an opportunity.

"Hum." Harry looked thoughtful. He bit his lip, glancing sideways at Hermione as he spoke once more, "Do you enjoy being er… alone with her?"

Hermione blinked, not expecting him to be so forward. "I…" she began, thinking. How did she feel about Fleur? Her thoughts were so conflicted and so filled with wonderment at the newness of the situation. Fleur took her to such heights that Hermione did not have words to describe how she felt, it was much too soon. "I like it very much. I like how she makes me feel."

"Then I'm glad for you." Harry smiled, reaching over and placing a hand on Hermione's shoulder. He squeezed encouragingly at her and she smiled back at him. Never before had she been so grateful for friends who truly _understood_ her.

x

After lunch the next day, when she knew that the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor had a free period, Hermione made her way up to Fleur Delacour's office and quietly knocked on the door. It was half-ajar and Hermione could see Fleur's back, hunched over her desk, a stack of parchment next to her. She was grading papers. At the sound of Hermione's knock, Fleur jumped and whipped her head around, blond hair and bright blue eyes flashing dangerously in the bright sunlight that spilled through the windows and across her desk. "Can I talk to you?" Hermione asked, slipping into the room and closing the door behind her.

Fleur smiled that smile that Hermione found so intriguing. It was closed-off and polite, a politician's smile that seemed so out-of-place considering Fleur's personality. "Of course, Beautiful one." Fleur said, her accent cutting into her words but not enough to make them incomprehensible. Her English had improved greatly during her time on the Isles, of that Hermione was positive. Fleur set down her quill and turned to face Hermione, still standing nervously in the doorway. "What is bothering you?"

Hermione found that she could not contain the words, and all the questions came tumbling out of her mouth. This had been bothering her for _weeks_ now, since their date and since the conversation where Fleur had established another more to this relationship that Hermione had not been entirely prepared to deal with. She would have to give Bill a child before they could truly be together. "Is what we're doing wrong? I mean, you're married to Bill and I know it's just for protection for both of you but I still feel like I'm doing something sneaky and dishonest."

Fleur stood and came to stand in front of her. She was wearing heels again, and she stood a good head taller than Hermione did in her flat school shoes. Hermione hated how Fleur could loom over her. It reminded her a little too much about how Ron had done a lot of that after his growth spurt over sixth year. Hermione had stopped growing and Harry had an inch of two later, Ron and Fleur were both freakishly tall. Hermione looked up at her, trying to keep the question and confusion from showing on her face.

An elegantly painted nail ran along her jawline and tilted Hermione's head further upwards, so that Hermione found herself staring into deep and intelligent blue eyes, "Do not feel that way, 'ermione, never feel that way." Fleur said fiercely, her eyes flashing dangerously. She looked away for a minute, as though she was composing herself, before continuing, her voice uncharacteristically curt, "What William and I have is an arrangement that is going to backfire if I do not miraculously pop out a baby. Don't look at me that way." Hermione had scowled at the mention of Bill's bizarre want to have a baby and the Weasley's outdated and barbaric need to have an heir before everyone could be happy with the fact that their eldest son was very obviously homosexual. "You know I won't do it unless you want me to – it would be _our_ child."

Hermione sighed, pushing past Fleur and crossing to stand by the window. She bit back harsh words about how positively medieval some of the practices of the wizarding world were, instead voicing her other concern. She didn't know how she found the nerve to say the words as she felt – rather than saw – Fleur walk up behind her. "It's too much, Fleur," she said, pressing her palm up against the cool glass of the window. "Why can't this just be a casual, passionate beginning of a romance?"

Fleur's hand came to rest on her shoulder and Hermione leaned back into her warm body. She didn't know how she stayed away from Fleur, and her intoxicating scent and wonderful kindness. "Because that is not 'ow we work, apparently." Fleur breathed, her nose buried in Hermione's hair. "I am sorry."

"Don't be." Hermione turned, so that they were facing each other. She leaned against Fleur's chest and smiled, "You were wonderful, by the way."

Fleur ruffled her hair affectionately, and Hermione felt herself melt a little inside. "Merci," Fleur said in a rare lapse into her native language. Hermione knew that she longed to be able to speak it, she had said as much when she said that she couldn't express herself well in English. She smiled, and nodded her response at Fleur as the blonde's expression grew serious and she did not look away from Hermione's quickly clouding vision. Gold tinged Fleur's words, and Hermione had to shake her head ever so slightly to escape the haze that came with being so close to Fleur. "I 'ave a question for you – when you and I were together, did you feel like you were in control?"

"Yes." Hermione answered without hesitation. She knew that she had wanted it and had wanted it without any influence on her decision making. Fleur had been the one who had hesitated, not her.

Fleur's fingers were tangled in her hair and Hermione moved closer, wrapping her arms around her lover and inhaling slowly, listening to her heartbeat and the vibrations in her chest as she spoke, "I was merely curious, the veela can bend those who are not willing to their will."

Hermione frowned and looked up at Fleur. What was she talking about? Veela had no such power, they were monosexual beings, they couldn't seduce like that, it was a defense mechanism because they were beautiful and desired by many. The fact that Fleur was suggesting that she could have bent Hermione to her will was preposterous. "You wouldn't would you?" she asked, staring into Fleur's eyes. They were clear and intense. No lies there.

"Of course not!" Fleur laughed, touching Hermione's cheek and smiling sadly. "I just fear that I … because I am not as comfortable with that aspect of myself. I fear that because I do not know myself as well I will 'urt you."

"I trust you, you would never." Hermione nodded seriously. "Why are you worried about it?"

Fleur stepped out of Hermione's embrace in a careful sidestep that Hermione wondered if she practiced. She leaned against the window, her back pressed against the glass and the brilliant sunlight framing her face and hair and giving her an almost angelic look. Hermione stepped forward, to reach out to her, to tell her that it would be alright. That she was unafraid of the power that slept just beneath Fleur's consciousness. A look from Fleur stopped her, a want for distance, to say her piece. "I felt my control slip away yesterday. I could not 'ave stopped if I 'ad wanted to – if you 'ad told me to," Fleur's eyes were full of something that Hermione could not place, a sadness and a nervousness that was so completely uncharacteristic of Fleur that it scared Hermione. What had brought this on? A frown crossed her features as Fleur admitted, "It terrifies me."

Her brow furrowed, why not give into it – why deny your essence if it defined you? Fleur was the only being that she had ever met who actively rejected their creature heritage. She couldn't really understand Fleur's predicament, she was pure human, muggleborn, but still human. She didn't know what it was like to have two competing beings in her mind. "Then why not become one with it?" She asked with a question in her eyes.

Fleur sighed, and looked down at her hands. Hermione almost took a step back, alarmed, as they grew and changed before her eyes. Long, sharp talons grew from Fleur's fingers, fusing together and morphing into something that Hermione had only ever seen once before, at the Quidditch World Cup. She hadn't been aware that Fleur had been able to shift like this, and began to look at Fleur's face and chest – looking for the other tell-tale makers of a veela. "You fail to understand the implication of your words, 'ermione," Fleur's eyes were pupil-less as she stared at Hermione, her expression unreadable. "I cannot."


	18. Act Two, Scene Four

**Golden Haze – Act Two, Scene Four**

AN: Thanks for all the feedback on the previous chapter. It really did mean a lot that you all enjoyed it even if I wasn't so keen on writing it. This chapter is mostly plot advancement, its Halloween y'all!

Sorry for the delay getting this out, I was rather caught up in the job search and all. And then I found a job and have been working quite a lot to get back into the swing of things. So here's an update.

Also, the site's being really annoying right now, so I've been adding to this since I can't post it. So the last bit is mostly because I've been bored and needed to write more.

Music of the Story: The Kooks – Naïve, Owl City – Alligator Sky

* * *

Sometimes, Fleur simply could not believe the audacity of her actions. She'd allowed herself to morph, completely and fully without regards to her surroundings or the situation at present. She'd done it in front of Hermione, a desperate act that was nothing more than self-sabotage of the fledgling bond that she and Hermione shared. A cowardly act and one she could not justifiably defend. She had known right away what she was doing when she let the control slip, and had not sunk into her old defensive habits. All she could do was watch within herself as the horrible scene unfolded before her.

Fleur hated her cowardice, her attempt to take the easy way out of this new and confusing (and not all together unenjoyable) situation.

Her grandmere had urged her, under no uncertain circumstances, to admit to Hermione exactly who and what her heritage made her. Fleur was simply doing what she had asked, she reasoned, in the only way she knew how. Her words were poison with regards to this situation and actions often spoke louder than words. So act – change - she did, in the only way she could, by giving into that haze that pressed around her temples and vision.

(She didn't mean for you to go about it like that, fool).

Fleur hadn't expected Hermione to take her hand (talons and all) and kiss her palm. She hadn't known how to react to that. She still wasn't entirely sure that she knew how to react to what Hermione had done. Her grandmere, her mother, no one had ever told her that it was the veela itself that needed the love – just the human that was bound to its fate. The feeling of soft, curious lips on her hand, on her cheek, on her lips followed her everywhere now.

Thoughts of Hermione had kept her up a good part of the night, lying in bed and staring at the ceiling. Her face contorted with emotions that she was not entirely sure that she understood. Fleur was smart, she had good schooling in both the real world and in academia, she would figure this out. It was a half-hearted promise to herself, but she did feel as though she was finally on her way to fully comprehending what her grandmother had meant to say with her urging to tell Hermione fully and completely of what it meant to truly be _veela. _

She rose in the morning after a restless sleep plagued by dreams of exploding envelopes and espionage that was more bizarre than anything else and blinked the sleep out of her eyes. It was Tuesday, her first class was at eleven and it was now eight o'clock. She'd slept in, accidentally, and was late to breakfast. Fleur couldn't shake the fear that she felt, as her shoes clicked on the hard stone of the second floor corridor that she was cutting across to get to the main staircase of the school as quickly as possible.

A glance at her reflection in the glass covering one of the portraits told her that she looked as haggard as she ever did after losing herself to the veela. The transformation ripped her soul in half and shoved it back together violently in a way that Fleur was really only beginning to accept. She hated it, and ran a shaky hand through her hair as she continued on her way. She would understand eventually, now was not the time. Hermione had _accepted_ who she was without question and Fleur was still blown away with her reaction.

She hurried down the stairs, stepping easily over the trick step and nodding at the few students who were traveling in the other direction, heading to gather their things for their first classes, she reasoned. She could feel their eyes on her, wondering, no doubt, why she looked so awful.

She'd slept like shit, she was allowed to look like crap.

The Great Hall was still occupied by what appeared to be the second wave of Hogwarts students and professors. It was not so late that she would have to go to the kitchens to get some toast and an apple for breakfast, but the faces of the students were different from her normal early breakfast crowd. They all looked at her a little curiously as she cut up between the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables. To her right, over the heads of the Ravenclaws, she could see Ron Weasley and Harry Potter reading the newspaper with interest with no Hermione in sight.

Normally, this would have stuck Fleur as odd, but she knew from watching Hermione for nearly two months now, that Hermione was an early riser and liked to read in the library before her first class. She was probably there now, and Fleur longed to turn around and seek her… (what was Hermione to her anyway?) out.

The growling in her stomach forced her to turn though, and head up towards the teacher's table. Food came first, it seemed, although Fleur did not feel particularly compelled to eat.

Minerva McGonagall looked at her severely down her glasses as Fleur slipped into the seat next to her and smiled happily as the mug next to her plate filled with steaming coffee.

Coffee, regardless of what it did to one's teeth and breath, was _amazing. _She inhaled deeply, and took a sip, before turning to meet McGonagall's gaze evenly. "Good morning, 'eadmistress," the words flowed off of her tongue effortlessly. That was probably the coffee's doing, as she already felt more alert.

McGonagall took a sip of what appeared to be Irish Breakfast tea (Fleur had the good sense to be scandalized for Minerva's Scottish relatives) and smiled wanly at her, "Good morning, Fleur. I trust your evening was enjoyable?"

Fleur, in mid sip, almost choked on her coffee. She spluttered for a minute and swallowed the scalding liquid quickly before replying with all the dignity she could muster at McGonagall's curiously raised eyebrow, "Most certainly."

(You are blushing like a lovesick fool.)

_Shut up._

Wanting to quiet the veela, Fleur continued, selecting an apple from the tray of fruit to her left and beginning to slice it into pieces. Peaceful conversation and polite inquiries were one thing, but Fleur knew all too well that dancing around a topic would only prolong already awkward conversations. She cut to the chase, "'ave you had any luck tracking down information with regards to the threats?"

McGonagall gave her an apprising look over square spectacles. "Some," she said in a quiet undertone. Her brow pushed forward into a single angry line. Fleur knew almost before she opened her mouth that whatever she had to say was not going to be good. Mentally, she braced herself. "We have placed some feelers at The Ministry and there's a distinct lack of remorse for the children who have been injured here who have magical creature blood with the majority parties."

Fleur dropped her spoon into her coffee cup with a sharp clunk and all-but-exclaimed, "But they are children!" She couldn't understand it, children did not deserve to be caught up in a war like this, it was unfair to them, tragic and unavoidable. She remembered what her father had told her long ago, when she had first told her parents of her life plans to return to England and fight the good fight against Voldemort. People were, in general, horrible to each other and to themselves. She supposed that given the circumstances of Harry Potter's victory over Voldemort in June that she really shouldn't have been surprised.

Yet she was. Completely horrified that people would go so far as to simply _not_ care. A shaky hand reached out and gripped the side of the table hard as she fixed McGonagall with the most piercing gaze she could muster, "'ow could anyone not feel pity for them?"

Fleur couldn't understand it. So many children had died during the battle at the school and throughout the year last year that those who were still alive were precious commodities to the wizarding community. The next generation who could stand for what was just and true in the world.

She frowned as the headmistress shook her head sadly. There were no answers to her questions, only more complicated moral issues that she had not had nearly enough coffee that morning to discuss just yet. McGonagall sighed, her voice quiet, but her tone not unkind. "I do not know. Minister Shacklebolt is trying to make that point, but the majority thinks that these vigilantes are doing the right thing. They say it is prudent, as many old families have, as they say, 'tainted blood.'"

"That is disgusting." Fleur said, wrinkling her nose.

"You have my agreement there." McGonagall nodded while bridging her hands over her toast. She glanced around, before turning to fully look at Fleur, her voice hushed even more than before – barely audible over the late-morning breakfasting students. "We think we know where they're based, as well. We need someone to do undercover work that won't draw too much attention to the order. Bill Weasley came to mind."

That had not been what Fleur had expected. Why William? He was obviously the poorest choice for the project that The Order had as he was technically married to a girl with magical creature blood. She tried to think of the reasoning behind McGonagall's suggestion, but found that she could not place it or find any way to spell the feeling of dread that had started to grow in the pit of her stomach as soon as William's name was mentioned. It didn't seem right.

Her tongue finally found its way again, forming words as best it could with her thoughts racing, "William?" she asked with a raised eyebrow. "But 'e is married to me, will that not raise suspicions?"

It dawned on her suddenly that that might have been the entire point. She was not faithful to William – and had gone into the marriage knowing that she, if given the chance, would not be faithful to him. Her heritage really had nothing to do with the fact that both he and she were obviously interested in other people, and William was a fairly good actor when he put his mind to it.

Still, Fleur did not want that for William – it was not fair to him, as he was one of the kindest and most loving people that Fleur knew. Her best friend was being volunteered for a potential suicide mission and it was all because of his closeness with her.

(Good. Let him get killed. One less thing for you to worry about.)

_Fool, it is not so simple._ Fleur thought violently, quashing the impulse to she could barely contain to agree with the veela. What William wanted from her was something that could work in her favor in the long run. Veela loved children, and family was important to them. There were spells that could be done, and elements of veela lore that Fleur only half-understood that would allow for William to donate to the 'cause' as it were, without actually being present for the act.

Still, that was many years off and hopefully by then Hermione would agree to something like this. Fleur couldn't ask her now – she was still so new to everything. It truly terrified Fleur when she thought about how Hermione had taken her heritage without question and had embraced it fully. No one should love a monster, even if the monster had the charm of a veela.

McGonagall's voice pulled Fleur away from her musing and back to the Great Hall. "You said yourself, it is a sham." Her tone was fair, but there was an undercurrent of '_and I have no idea why, young lady, he is a good catch'_ in the headmistress' voice. Fleur wanted to smile at the tone, but the words were true and shame burned on her cheeks. She hated that they had done this; it had seemed like such a good idea at the time. Now, it was just closing doors to them both right and left.

They would leave each other eventually, once the laws were changed and everyone was free to be with those they loved not out of obligation, but out of affection and choice. That time had not yet come, however, and Fleur still felt the weight of it all press down upon her. She swallowed hotly, and tried to will her cheeks to stop burning.

"If we play up his frustration with the whole situation, his anger that he cannot be himself," McGonagall paused, clearing her throat loudly before continuing, "_sexually_ because of you, there's a chance that they'll believe him and let him into their fold."

Fleur would have laughed, to hear McGonagall say something so open and having to do with sex, but her point was a good one, and Fleur could find no flaw in it, only embarrassment for William and for herself. Self-consciously, she tucked her bangs behind her ear and tried to not flush as she digested what the Headmistress had had to say.

She had a point, of all the wizards and witches in The Order, William was probably their best chance to infiltrate this new group. He was poor, he was in a loveless marriage to someone who was making his life miserable and adding needless complication because of her creature blood. He had asked her to have a child with him to alleviate these complications and she had refused him flat out, it all added up to a perfect angry wizard. In the muggle world, they'd probably say that he had 'terrorist potential,' as her father sometimes said when he read _Le Monde_ after work.

Fleur nodded her agreement at length, but could not help but point out, "Remember that 'e is of pure blood. The majority of these people are muggle-born, there is a chance that it will not work even then."

_You had better stay safe. _Fleur thought viciously. _If you are inclined to suicide missions. _

She hadn't thought about things in such a way since the war – or even before. She knew William, knew he was careful and a good wizard. He was skilled and could defend himself. And yet, Fleur wished that it didn't have to be him. She did not want her friendship with him to be put on the line because of the ignorance of others. It simply was not fair – but she resigned herself to knowing that he really was the best man for the job.

McGonagall conceded her point and countered with one of her own, her eyes solemn as she spoke, "As a Weasley, he's downtrodden enough by pure blood society that it should work."

"'e is my best friend, Minerva, do not poison him to me too much." Fleur sighed, there was no winning this argument, and all she could hope for was for William to be safe.

The older woman clasped her hand on Fleur's shoulder and squeezed in what Fleur interoperated to be a reassuring gesture. She didn't feel assured, but when McGonagall smiled at her, she at least felt a little better. "Never, Fleur. We do not work that way," McGonagall promised, her eyes bright with emotion that Fleur could not place, "There are very few options for us presently, however, and this is a good plan."

"I agree," Fleur conceded; her eyes squeezed tight shut to calm herself. Inside the veela was seething and the gold pressed upon her vision. William was family, family that should be protected, not thrown out for sacrifice as higher authority saw fit. Fleur swallowed, trying to reason with the creature, to tell it that in order for everything to live happily, that they would need to go along with this plan for the time being.

She sipped her coffee, eyes narrowed as the creature waged against her thin veneer of calm.

(You are a fool.)

_And you are rash, let this play out, it will be for all our benefit._

x

Fleur divided her time evenly during her seventh year class the afternoon of Halloween between pushing down the impulse to sigh breathily every time she looked at Hermione and ending the class early so that she could get the _other_ matter that she had to take care of out of the way as soon as humanly possible. Now was not the time to allow Hermione's presence near her to drive her to distraction. She was not the only one, as Halloween fell on a Tuesday that year and the day had dawned brisk and cold. The students were preoccupied with preparation's for the evening ahead. She had been avoiding granting Narcissa Malfoy's request for too long now, and she felt the press of the obligation keenly. It would be better to simply do what was asked of her and then move on from there. There was a decent chance that he would not take her advice anyway.

It felt so odd, to promise to do something for someone who so obviously hated Hermione, but she had promised to help as best she could. She was only doing this as a favor to a woman who had been kind to her with no particular reason to be so, and yet she could not stand the idea of offering him kindness after what had happened to Hermione at his family's home.

For all of Fleur's struggle to quash the veela's instincts to lavish even the attentive student in Hermione with all the attention and Hermione seemed preoccupied, and when Fleur passed back their essays from the previous week, Fleur tucked an invitation to meet later that evening to keep up the appearance that they were simply teacher and student. She was not going to allow Hermione's peers to discover their relationship if she could at all avoid it.

She went through the class with a rigor that she hardly recognized – she had tried to perpetuate the idea that she was a hard professor, but a fair one. The level of questions and the points she assigned and took away during that class was rather _harsh_ if she did say so herself, but Fleur knew that she had to set the stage correctly for what she was about to offer.

Distantly, the bell rang and the class stood almost in unison to leave. Fleur took a deep breath, gave Hermione a meaningful look at her smile and nod upon making eye contact and cleared her throat. "Monsieur Malfoy, a word?" She asked in a mild tone, her hands resting openly on the desk in front of her.

He looked up, eyes narrowed and nodded jerkily. Fleur watched as he gathered his things slowly, waiting for his classmates to file out of the room. He moved jerkily, as if still on edge from the previous year, his eyes nervously flitting towards the door as the last stragglers hurried out of it.

Fleur raised her wand and flicked it slowly, closing and locking it. She added a privacy charm as an afterthought. It wasn't a powerful one, but she did want Draco Malfoy to feel at ease. She was about to insult his magical prowess for no reason other than that his mother had asked her to. She took a deep breath and set her wand back down on the desk, her most charming smile falling easily into place.

Malfoy crossed his arms and scowled, his face pulled downwards into an altogether unpleasant expression. "You aren't having Granger stay after as well? I'm shocked by the preferential treatment, _professor_."

She bit back an insult, a curse, a growl at his insult to both herself and Hermione. She had to remain professional, or else all would be for naught. She closed her eyes and counted to ten in Latin before speaking. Even then, she could only just keep the venom out of her voice. "I would rather not take points from Slytherin, but do not think that I would not."

He sighed and sat back down, looking appropriately chastised. Slytherin House needed all the help they could get in terms of points this year, as their numbers were far lower than the other houses due to various attendance problems. Fleur was not above taking points to drive home the point that he should respect her. She only hoped that he could be reasonable about the whole situation.

"Then what is this about?" He asked at length.

Fleur bridged her fingers together and tried to sound kind as she spoke. The venom was still there, barely hidden – the veela knew that he knew things that he should not. She would silence him if it came to that. "As I am your teacher, it falls to me to inform you that you are very behind in the practical aspect of defensive spells."

He looked, for lack of a better word, flabbergasted. "I'm third in the class!"

She had guessed that he would respond like this. It was almost typical, as all boys at this age were the same. "In the _theory, _M. Malfoy. The practical is very much different."

He hunched his shoulders and stared at the desk, "So you're what? Offering me lessons?"

Fleur laughed softly, "I never said that." She met his grey gaze evenly and braced herself for his reaction. "I am encouraging you to join Monsieur Potter's defense club."

He opened his mouth and closed it again. His face was easy to read when it was twisted in disgust. Fleur wondered if it was simply his family that had raised him to be so hateful or if the war had tarnished him like it had the rest of the wizarding world. Finally, he found his tongue and spat, "You want me to what?"

She understood, on some level, where he was coming from. School boy rivalries and competition were what fueled such antagonism between people. But both Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy owed each other far more than could be imagined, if the talk around the Order was to be believed. Their dislike of each other had to be quashed before it could grow any more blatant and unpleasant.

In some ways, Narcissa Malfoy's request of assistance in actually teaching her son the practical elements of defensive magic was an excuse for Fleur. She knew that if Draco Malfoy was going to be at all involved with The Order's quest to seek out this latest evil, that he would need to be far more proficient at defensive magic than he was now. She was merely offering him a chance to learn in a non-class setting where his failures would not be graded alongside his successes.

Fleur figured that in time he would figure it out. He was an intelligent boy.

"'e is an excellent teacher." She said, sweeping her things into her bag and tucking her wand up her sleeve and back into its holster. "Ask for 'is 'elp, 'e will be willing."

The bang of the bench that Draco Malfoy was sitting on falling to the floor was all the indication of how her advice had been taken. He drew level with her and spat, "I'll not take his charity," before pushing his way through the privacy ward and out the door.

_That could have gone better._ Fleur thought darkly, righting the fallen bench and pulling the curtains on the wide bay windows shut.

(Those of our kind are stubborn.)

x

The Astronomy tower was abandoned as darkness grew on Halloween night. Fleur was grateful for the moment of reprieve, and was glad of the fact that she was not called upon to chaperone the Halloween Ball that the headmistress and Professors Sprout and Townsend had put together over the past few weeks. She had been told, privately, that it was because of her heritage, that they were afraid with so many hormonal youths in one place that something might happen.

Fleur had smiled and nodded her agreement. There was very little that she could do about her heritage other than to hate it with every ounce of her being – but it did have some perks. She did not have to spend the next five hours listing to terrible music and watching her students act like sexually-experimenting young adults rather than the studious pupils she now thought of them as.

The trap door in the floor swung open and the (tamed) brown hair of Hermione Granger became visible as the younger girl hurried her way up the ladder. She was wearing a dress that would have been acceptable at the ball, loose and tunic-like. She'd accented it with leggings and flats – and looked suddenly far younger than Fleur had ever thought of Hermione as being. The youthful nature of her attire made something stir within Fleur and she swallowed hotly. "Will the ball not miss you, Mademoiselle Granger?" Fleur asked calmly, her cheeks burning as she resisted the urge to give Hermione a blatant once-over. She kept her eyes fixed on the stars and the wanning moon instead, looking for some solace as the golden haze filled her vision.

Hermione came to stand beside her, leaning against the railing and smiling up at Fleur. "Perhaps I find the company there lacking, Professor," Her smile was flippant, and Fleur wanted to kiss the smugness off of her lips. She held herself back, watching as Hermione added off-handedly. "Also, I was extended an invitation."

Recognizing the game, Fleur responded in kind. "Oh? Tell me who extended such an invitation to you." Her voice turned harsh as she possessively placed an arm around Hermione's shoulders. "As I may 'ave to have words with them."

"She is taller than me, terribly beautiful, and a talented witch." Hermione seemed bored, but leaned into Fleur's touch with gusto, before adding with an off-hand grin, "Also, she's part veela."

Ah, the crux of the matter. Fleur swallowed, wondering if she should let the game continue or turn the conversation serious. "A veela non?" she asked, a smile playing on her lips as she tangled her fingers in Hermione's hair. It was so soft, tamed obviously for her eyes only, and Fleur relished the feeling of having the silky strands flow through her fingers. "To, 'ow do you say, _tangle_ such a creature you must be very brave."

"She is fantastic," Hermione smiled brightly, her fingers twining with Fleur's as she rose up to kiss Fleur's cheek. "Bravery has nothing to do with it. I believe I may be in love with her."

Fleur blinked, comprehension dawning on her face. Love? Love was not something she had ever really allowed herself to dare hope for. She was a monster, a creature born of magic and of an obsessive love that she herself was tortured with. She swallowed, thinking of how Hermione had taken her hand when she had changed, how she had kissed it. Maybe it was love, but she did not trust herself to be sure. "Love?" she said quietly, glancing nervously towards the moon and their surroundings. "'ermione it is not wise to speak of love on such a night as this."

Hermione detangled their fingers and folded her arms moodily across her chest. "Whyever not?" she asked, her tone suggesting that Fleur better have a _damn_ good explanation for why she was acting this way.

"It would do you well, young one, to read the books I gave you." Fleur trailed her fingers along Hermione's cheeks, watching as they grew and changed, the haze fully taking her over. Shifting was not painful around Hermione, but it was still jarring. She felt the feathers grow along her back and on her arms, felt how her fingers lengthened and became more claw-like. They were hard, powerful, ready to use when fighting or when loving. Fleur had read about how it worked, but had never found cause to try it.

"Fleur?" Hermione questioned, her brow furrowed and her cheeks flushed in the moonlight.

She felt awkward, shaky in this form, and yet she was driven by one primal instinct. The haze was everything now, she had to give into it, to allow it to control her fully in order to gain the release she so desired. She took one breath, and then another, knowing that Hermione would never forgive her if she lied at such a curtail juncture of their relationship. "I would 'ave you, if you would let me." Her voice felt shaky and afraid as she spoke, looking steadily at her hands – afraid of what seeing Hermione's face would make her do right now. "Like this – in the sin of my being a part creature that I must embrace to live fully."

Hermione's question came quickly, though her voice had an uncharacteristic shake to it that Fleur had not anticipated. "W-would it make it easier for you?"

A laugh escaped her then, and Fleur found herself staring into those questioning, intelligent brown eyes, so full of love and promise that it made her stomach turn. She had done nothing to deserve this. She pulled Hermione to her, nails scraping against soft skin as Hermione's gasp told Fleur that she liked the roughness. "Easier? Perhaps not, but it would give me a moment's peace from the 'aze."

They were pressed up against each other now, Hermione's breath mingled with her own as she dared Fleur into action. "Then to it, Fleur. It does not matter what you look like." Her voice was breathy, and full of passion, her teeth nipping at Fleur's lower lip as she spoke.

"You don't know what you are agreeing to." Fleur pulled back ever so slightly, her eyes meeting Hermione's own with a pupil-less gaze – the true mark of a veela. "Veela are sensual beings, powerful beings – are you sure you can 'andle - this – me?"

Hermione pressed herself more fully against Fleur, her body molding to fit perfectly against Fleur's taller form. "Fleur, please."

It was then that something just snapped within Fleur. She could not deny it any more. Her wand was in her hand in an instant, pointed at a discarded rock on the ground. With a flick and far too many years of careful transfiguration study, it turned into a comfortable-looking mattress. Hermione's eyes grew wide as Fleur watched her. "Lie down," Fleur said, her tone harsh and commanding. The veela was in control now, and there was little that Fleur could do against its powerful grip on her subconscious. She only hoped that Hermione was really okay with what they were about to do – she did not think that she could stop once they got started.

The veela was harsh and aggressive as Hermione kicked off her shoes and settled down on the mattress, her eyes bright with something that Fleur could not place. Fleur pulled off her cloak and sweater, settling herself down on top of Hermione. Her voice came out as a low hiss as she pushed Hermione's dress up around her midriff. "I will not be kind."

Hermione moaned as those vicious talons-looking gently caressed her body and pulled her dress clean off. Fleur pressed her lips against Hermione's pulse point. Her teeth and tongue pressed there, sucking violently, claiming Hermione as she allowed her hands to roam across her body. As Fleur's lips traveled lower, Hermione's voice cut through the breathy moans and gasps that she had been making as Fleur's lips burned their way downwards towards her breasts. "To do this – ah," She gasped out as Fleur's lips closed around one of Hermione's pert nipples. Fleur sucked hard for a moment before pulling backwards, the veela curious as to what Hermione was going to say. Her tongue danced around Hermione's breast brazenly as she looked up with expectant eyes.

Gulping, Hermione continued, "on All Hallows – what does it mean?"

Fleur smiled, pushing herself forward to press her lips against Hermione's in a possessive kiss. Her voice sounded almost feral as she said in explanation, "It is a claiming of your soul and its connection to me."

Hermione looked confused, but Fleur's fingers had pushed down her leggings and soon Fleur relinquished the kiss to move downwards, pulling off the offending garment and pushing her tongue and those oh so vicious looking fingers up into Hermione's core. She could not be confused when ecstasy was so clearly written across her face.

She was beautiful that way.


	19. Act Two, Scene Five

**Golden Haze - Act Two, Scene Five  
**

**AN: **Someone reviewed asking why the fuck Fleur and Hermione don't just flee England and be done with it. While the idea had occurred to me, it honestly does not jive with what I see either of their personalities doing in such a situation, under duress though they are. Hermione is stubborn enough to want to see the notes situation seen through, as well as changing the laws because what the hell, they're wrong anyway.

Thanks to S who reviewed and corrected my misgendered French. Nightmares from high school, that stuff, I tell you. Mostly when I wrote Fleur I try to think about how one says things in French and then translate roughly with perhaps a little more eloquence than just bad translation. The reason I do this is because she's _not_ a native English speaker and even with a few years of the language under her belt, she's going to phrase some things oddly.

This chapter spans quite a bit of time, and is used to bring some stuff to a head - about two and a half weeks sounds right, so it is now the middle of November.

Music of the Story: The entire album – Eingya – "Halving the Compas" - Britney Spears - "Femme Fatale" (GO BUY IT NOW ITS AWESOME)

* * *

There was breath on her neck, light and fluttering against her pulse point. Sleepily, Fleur opened her eyes to stare up at the inky black of the night sky. Brown hair that curled in ways that were no explainable to mere mortals pressed against her cheek and Fleur smiled, staring at her lover. They had fallen asleep under a hastily cast warming charm and Fleur's cloak, exhaustion claiming them. Now it was growing even colder, as October turned into November. Distantly, a clock chimed once and Fleur shifted. She pushed against Hermione's shoulder, "Réveillez-vous, 'ermione." She whispered. Her voice was hoarse as though she'd been drinking or shouting for hours. She had been doing neither of those things, and the gentle flush that grew on her cheeks as she thought about what she _had_ indeed been doing was enough to bring a small smile to play across Fleur's lips.

Hermione shifted closer, wrapping her arms more tightly around Fleur's bare stomach, her fingers grazing against over-sensitive breasts. "Comfy," she muttered, "Stop moving."

Fleur smiled and shifted once again, the noises that Hermione was making were totally adorable – but they had to get off the roof before it got much colder. She was out after curfew now, and there was no way for them to both get back to their respective bedrooms that Fleur could easily think of. She was not nearly as knowledgeable about the castle as someone who had lived there for seven years now – so she needed Hermione to wake up. "You must get up," Fleur tried again, bending down and brushing her lips against Hermione's. "It is late and you must return to your dormitory."

"Shan't," Hermione muttered defiantly, but her eyes opened and Fleur smiled down at her in the moonlight. The haze was completely gone; she could look at Hermione with the startling clarity that she had not seen for a long time.

It was in that moment, free of the veela's influence, that Fleur finally understood what it was about Hermione Granger that enticed her so. She had probably been seeing what she now saw all along, but had only just truly accepted it. There was a golden line connecting them – heart to heart. This was not veela magic, she had never read of it. And her grandmere had never told her about anything like this.

Fleur reached out, puzzled, and touched the line. It hummed and Hermione's gaze followed her own – curious as to what she was looking at.

(She can't see it. Not unless you used that spell again.) The veela came unbidden, but Fleur did not mind it's presence for the first time in a long time. It was there but not dictating her existence like it had for so many years up until this point. Fleur realized that she could very easily live with that.

The reality of what they had done crashed down around Fleur and she inhaled slowly, looking from the line to Hermione and back again. There was very little that could be done now. She would have to tell William that there was no hope for their sham any more. The gods and goddesses of old had spoken and the magic was firm. She and Hermione were bonded in a way that many witches and wizards could not hope to understand.

Fleur only hoped the law would side with them in due time.

"What is it?" Hermione asked. Her voice was scratchy and still full of sleep. Her eyes crinkled upwards in a smile that Fleur could only just return. She was not ready for what they had done – and Fleur was afraid to explain the full repercussions. What if Hermione rejected her because of them? She could not – not until she knew.

"The 'aze, it is gone." Fleur offered in explanation, still staring at the line that connected them. A happy sigh escaped her lips as she thought about how clear her vision was. She twisted so that she was sitting, chest bare to the night with her hair just barely covering her breasts. "And we 'ave bonded."

Hermione sat up as well, drawing the cloak up with her as she did, staring up at the night sky. Ever curious, she asked, "How does that work?"

Fleur smiled. This she could explain at length, and maybe it would make her feel better about what they had done. "It is a joining of souls," she began, shifting so that she could be under the cloak as well. "Or rather, a connection between them is forged when two that are compatible come together much the way we did tonight."

"I never realized we were so compatible," Hermione breathed, looking at Fleur with wide eyes.

"'ermione, when I first saw you, I knew. It is a trait that all veela 'ave. When a veela comes of age, they are overcome with a knowing, deep within themselves, that tells them who they are to mate with. There is only one." She looked down at her hands. "This is a lot, I know, but you are that person for me." Her cheeks burned, she could not look up and meet Hermione's questioning gaze, but she knew that it was upon her. The bond told her, a gentle press upon her heart.

Admitting defeat was not in character for Fleur Delacour. And yet she could not bring herself to look up and see this person who she so clearly loved. She felt as though Hermione's eyes were burning into her skin, imploring her to look up, to stop being so selfish and so stubborn.

"I 'ate it," Fleur continued. The moon was at its apex in the night sky and it cast an eerie glow upon them. "I 'ate that I cannot give you a choice."

"What if I don't want one?" Hermione asked quietly. "What if this has always felt right?"

"You _loathed_ me," Fleur ground out. "I could see it in your face; it is very expressive you know. Back then, when everything was more simple." She remembered those looks of hatred and betrayal far more clearly than she'd been able to in weeks. The haze was gone and she could think clearly once again.

Hermione sighed and shifted her weight. "I was young then, childish." She let her fingers rest against Fleur's bare arm, unsolicited goose-bumps growing under her fingers as the veela inside Fleur cooed happily at the touch. "We both were."

She could not deny that, and she knew that Hermione most certainly did not feel that way now, but with her mind so clear, she felt as though she had to speak upon it in that moment, or else she would stay silent forever. Fleur leaned into Hermione's touch, caution and fear of Hermione being caught out after curfew fleeing from her mind. "I think I was in love with you, even then," she admitted, her voice shaking slightly. Veela were passionate, but they did not appear weak in the face of such foes. Love came easily and naturally to them with their mates – and yet Fleur was terrified. The situation was so convoluted that she could hardly see a way for it to end well.

The hand on her arm shifted to her shoulder and then cupped the back of her neck; drawing Fleur back down to Hermione's waiting lips. The kiss was sloppy and awkward, as the angle was difficult for both of them to sustain for very long, but with the kiss came a promise. It would be alright, Hermione's lips said. They'd figure it out, together.

Something stirred deep within Fleur, awakened after being clouded for so long. The love that she felt for Hermione was stronger than ever, and the urge to express it once again, in clear mind and body, seized her. She moved carefully, pushing Hermione back down onto the transfigured mattress, their lips parting only for an instant when the angle got too difficult for either of them to maintain contact.

Hands resting on either side of Hermione, Fleur roughly claimed those irresistible lips once again. Hermione's mouth was open and Fleur's tongue pushed in again and again, the fierce duel between them only ending when they both needed air. Hermione groaned loudly as Fleur shifted a knee to press aggressively against her center, her hands wildly grabbing at Fleur's back, trying to draw her in closer.

Fleur kissed down Hermione's jaw, lingering on her neck, biting and sucking at the point that she had discovered would make Hermione cry out wantonly only a few hours before. She would leave a mark, but Fleur found that she did not care. She wanted people to know that Hermione belonged to someone. Veela were possessive by nature, and the growl that welled up in Fleur's throat as Hermione tried to squirm out of the way only seemed to drive home that point even further.

Her teeth lingered for another brief moment before continuing to travel downward. Soft, wet kisses were followed by gentle bites on Hermione's collarbone and the swell of her breast. Hermione was speaking, babbling in English so fast that Fleur had trouble following it. She was saying words that Fleur knew, words that meant passion and were far more expressive than she was used to from Hermione.

"Fuck, please, right _there,_" Hermione hissed as Fleur's lips closed around one of her nipples. She sucked and pulled the nub upwards into her mouth, enjoying the groan it elicited from Hermione. She did not linger there, shifting her body to move downwards once more, placing kisses at Hermione's stomach and on the bone of her hip. The smell of Hermione's arousal was almost too much for her to bare as Fleur settled down between the younger girl's legs. She blew gently, marveling at how Hermione squirmed out of instinct and sheer arousal.

"Et si je vous racontais un histoire?" She asked, eyes never leaving Hermione's half-lidded ones. "A story of a little death?"

"A - little death?" Hermione could barely get the words out before Fleur pushed her tongue into Hermione's center, searching for that particular spot. She was acting on instinct now, and the gasp that escaped Hermione's lips told her that she had found it. Hermione was sweet and tangy, her hands tangling in Fleur's hair as Fleur pushed her forward.

Doing this was so perfect, so completely and utterly perfect. She could clearly see everything now, and understood that doing this was the right thing. She wanted to be with Hermione this way, and to not be caught up in her troubles and the problems that seemed to run rampant in her life. She sucked and nipped and pushed her tongue deep within Hermione not because the veela wanted her, but because Fleur did.

The sensation of power was driving her wild. Hermione's arousal was peaking and Fleur knew it would not be long now. Her hands pressed down upon Hermione's hips, holding her in place as her tongue kept up its furious pace. Hermione had grown incoherent as she grew closer to release, her moans now louder as Fleur sucked hard one last time.

Hermione came not with a shriek as she had before, but with a breathy moan. Fleur pulled away slowly, letting her ride out the last of the orgasm alone, before leaning forward to kiss her gently.

"That was amazing." Hermione said when speech had come back to her.

Fleur smiled, "That was a little death."

x

A week later, Fleur received a letter from William with her breakfast. It had been delivered by owl post, an oddity in their current situation. They had been flooing messages back and forth since the Ministry appointed mail screeners had settled in up at the Owlry to protect the students. The owl was one that she didn't recognize, and it glared menacingly at her as it stole some bacon off the platter in front of Professor Sprout and flew off without waiting for Fleur to respond.

She unfolded the paper carefully, after a few quick personal checks on the paper to ensure that there was no curses waiting for her when she opened the envelope. The parchment was worn and old-looking, as though it had been kept in William's pocket for many days before he'd finally been able to write. She flipped it over, realizing that it was something that Fred and George Weasley had invented over a year ago, following the example of a map that they had found while still in school. Without a password, the paper would not be readable to anyone and simply appear blank. It was a perfect ruse.

She leaned forward and whispered what would be the password with William every time, a smile playing across her lips as the words appeared on the parchment. No doubt that was why the owl was angry – it thought it was delivering a blank parchment.

_Fleur,_

_I have found my way inside, please tell the others this. The people here are, as we expected, insane. Mostly muggle born and violently angry at what happened during the war. They resent the Ministry and the Forces that fought to put You-Know-Who down for not doing enough and think that Harry Potter is a fool for even interacting with those who have creature blood. They call it sinful and dirty – like bestiality only somehow more reprehensible. I've urged them that taking actions in a place such as Hogwarts, where Harry is and the Order has a stronghold is foolish and a detriment to their cause. They do not listen._

_I can't stand these people. They're ignorant and intolerant and worse than the Death Eaters in a lot of ways because for all that hatred and intolerance there was still a single person spearheading it. Here there isn't one. The people here do things by committee, and that means that they can't be manipulated as easily. All that you can do is speak and hope that others agree with you. I hate it. These people judge me too, even though the Weasley family is far from the prime of wizarding society, my blood status is deeply resented. I tell them that I am angry and they do not believe me. I am trying to sell this, but it is a challenge that I cannot figure out how to overcome right now._

_This is the right thing to do, but I hate to say anything bad about your or my other friends who have creature blood. They're good people – undeserving of such hatred. The muggleborns do not understand what it means to join with a magical creature. They think them sub or even non-human like You-Know-Who did, but think that the punishments for such people even existing should be imprisonment, or even death. I don't understand it. Where does this hatred come from?_

_I hope that your situation is improving as mine is as well, in doing this, I am actually encouraged to take part in the things that I cannot freely do in the world right now. It is wonderful to be so free, but the price is not one that I want to give too much thought to._

_Bill_

_Ps- send the same parchment back, the password should stay the same, but they haven't figured out such communications yet._

Fleur folded up the parchment and tucked it in her pocket. She would respond when she went back to her office.

It was far later in the evening when she finally had time to put quill to paper and actually respond, however. She was far busier in her classes now, as she was preparing the students for a series of practical exams just before the Christmas Holiday break. The amount of prep work that Fleur had been doing had kept her in the school library for many hours late into the nights recently. Hermione had taken to spending her time studying for the NEWTs in a secluded corner of the library with Harry and Ronald, keeping her company as she looked up spells and counter-jinxes for various levels of defensive spell.

Sitting on her couch with an overly-large book of spells across her lap, Fleur began to write out a response to William. She knew that she could say anything now, but the weight of some of the things that she had to say to him pressed heavily around her. Time was gone for their careful game of lies; Hermione had now fully bonded to the veela and Fleur herself. She was feeling far happier than she had in years, and the veela had significantly stepped off with its constant pressure on her mind.

Fleur would not say that she had accepted her heritage, she was too afraid to do something like that at this stage in her life. She knew that there was a chance that the creature that sucked at the edges of her consciousness and soul would prove once again to be a parasite. Fleur was not willing to risk what she had built with Hermione only to discover that being one with that aspect of her heritage would cause some sort of dramatic change in her personality.

The fear was real, and yet childish, she knew it. She drew her wand across the paper and spelled it clean with the same password that William had used. Ink bottle carefully balanced on the couch cushion next to her, she began to write.

_Dear William – _

_Time is running out for this charade. I cannot keep it up much longer. So much has happened since we last spoke, and while I know that you have been busy and doing good work for The Order, I feel that I must say this to you before I address what you have been up to. On All Hallows' Hermione and I bonded in what was probably a rash action. Because of this, my vision has cleared and the sheer insanity that had come from denying myself her for as long as I had has all but vanished. I have not been so happy in recent memory, probably since before I came to England for the first time. _

_As these circumstances affect you, I feel that it is only proper to tell you that we will have to stop trying to keep up this ruse. My body physically will not let me be around you in what could be considered to be a romantic way, even if it is only play acting. I'm so sorry. Things have happened so quickly here, and while I hate how little choice we both have in this, I do not regret my actions. _

_We will think of something (Hermione may already be working on it, I do not know what she does when she vanishes into the restricted section of the library for hours at a time) to get us out of this, as well as you out of being forced to reproduce. It's barbaric, William, I cannot stand the idea of you being unhappy simply because you are not like other wizards. I promise you that we will make it right._

_Minerva has praised your work, and has requested that you attempt to get as many names as you can and gather evidence that will help the aurors arrest them before more incidents can take place. I know that you are in a precarious position there, but you are doing something that no one else could and it is a very brave thing. She has already set several meetings of all the muggleborn students that have come back to school to educate them on aspects of wizarding culture that they might not ever encounter until they are older. She is following the line of thinking that if the students encounter such things early, that they will be able to avoiding such prejudices. We are being encouraged to work such thoughts into our curriculum. _

_I have already had two or three classes where people ask why I am part veela. I have tried to explain it as best as I can, but honestly, I do not like to air my dirty laundry._

_Stay safe,_

_Fleur_

x

William was silent for an almost concerning amount of time after that, and Fleur had all-but given up hearing from him in response to what she had had to say to him in her previous letter. Minerva had told her privately that it was probably because he was worried about Fleur getting hurt or the letters (again) getting intercepted. Needless to say, it came as a complete shock when a large barn owl swooped in from the open window early in the morning and deposited a letter on Fleur's head.

It was early, even for Fleur. She hadn't been able to sleep well the night before, as the haze was coming and going and driving her to the point of distraction. As she could not simply apparate into Hermione's bed, she had been stuck with her hand and a very miserable feeling in the pit of her stomach. She'd come down to breakfast early with the hopes of being able to at least pass a note to Hermione asking if they could meet up that evening, but the few early-risers this morning did not include the brown-haired girl that Fleur was looking for and Fleur did not feel like intentionally lingering so that she could catch Hermione before she partook of her breakfast.

Professor Sprout was sitting at the opposite end of the table from Fleur, and they were the only two teachers present. Townsend had been in for a cup of coffee and a muffin but had left soon after. He'd mentioned something about a stack of essays waiting for him and Fleur had not envied his morning in the least. The herbology professor looked up the table at Fleur and smiled as she pulled the letter out of the back of her overrobe and smoothed out its creases on the table in front of her.

It was blank, and as she pulled her wand out to run the perfunctory checks on the envelope, a loud curse and then a shriek filled the mostly-devoid-of-students Great Hall.

Instincts born of a war still fresh in memory seized Fleur and she sprang into action, shoving the letter into her pocket and scanning the room quickly to see who was shouting. Clear across the hall, the Slytherin table was far more populated than the other house tables, and the noise seemed to be coming from there. Fleur pushed away from the table and hurried over to the small cluster of students.

"Out of the way," she shouted, pushing them apart so that she could get to the center and see what had happened. Professor Sprout was on her heels and began to push the students back further. The magical residue stank to high heaven of some sort of acid that Fleur thought that she'd had encountered in Egypt or potentially Jordan. She could not remember, but at Professor Sprout's sharp intake of breath, Fleur gathered that the herbology professor recognized the smell.

Draco Malfoy had fallen backwards off of the long bench and was now sprawled across the stone floor. A paper lay discarded on the table, and his hands and neck were covered in a harsh rash that seemed to be spreading quickly over his skin. _An acid or a volatile potion?_

(It smells of hatred.)

Several things happened at once, one of the Slytherins ran off towards the entrance, saying that they were going to fetch Madam Pomfrey. Fleur muttered a stasis charm over Draco and pulled him off the bench completely, so that he was fully on the floor. He glared up at her through pain-filled eyes, but did not say anything other than whimper as she hooked her fingers around his arm and drew it closer to examine it.

"Some sort of acid?" she asked, raising her eyebrows at Professor Sprout, who had spelled the letter on the table to float into the air. Draco's eyes widened and Fleur tried to remain calm, the stasis charm was already wearing off and the rash was starting to spread again. Desperately, Fleur cast it again, watching as Sprout sniffed the envelope and dropped it back down onto the table in disgust.

"Lampries Puss – highly acidic and volatile," she muttered, eyes flicking towards the door. "Stasis charm?" The Slytherins gathered around them looked angry and murderous at one of their own getting injured, but it was obvious to everyone involved why Draco had been attacked.

It was jarring to see skin so similar in color to her own pocked with a violent reminder of the hatred that people still couldn't find it within themselves to let go of. "It is wearing off very quickly," Fleur responded, making sure that Draco's shirtsleeves did not have any more of the substance on them. There was some on the collar of his shirt and she moved her wand in a quick slicing motion to pull the soiled garment off of him as gently as she could.

His neck was concerning – as the wounds there seemed worse than those on his hands. Fleur watched as the spell began to wear off once more.

"Add _magnus_ and hope that Poppy gets here soon," Sprout said quietly. Fleur grimly recast the stronger version of the spell and sat back on her heels, staring at the scene before her in disbelief.

The mediwitch did arrive quickly, almost pulled along by a quiet fourth-year girl who Fleur recalled was particularly skilled at the same screening charms that she used every morning. She'd made a point to teach all of her classes the spell, just to extra careful – obviously Draco either did not remember to use it, or simply chose not to.

"What is it?" Poppy Pomfrey demanded as she began to cast a series of diagnostic spells over Draco.

Professor Sprout had conjured a stretcher, and together they all moved Draco onto it, "Lampries Puss."

Pomfrey sucked in a breath and moved into an even faster gear of activity, barking orders at anyone who would listen. "We will need to get him upstairs as quickly as possible. Get one of Snape's numbing potions. No, I know that I've been stockpiling them, I need to use one now, the magical potency of this stuff needs to be stopped and it'll hurt more than the initial burn if we don't hop to it."

Fleur followed the stretcher out of the Great Hall with a worried look on her face.

x

Later, when Fleur finally was able to calm down enough to sit down across the wide library table from Hermione, she pulled the letter she had received at breakfast out of her pocket and unfolded its several sheets of paper carefully. They were spelled blank, which meant that they were from William. As she said the password, the first line of text appeared and the color drained from Fleur's face. She set the letter down on the table and tried to calm herself down. Had she opened this faster, maybe everything would have turned differently.

Draco would be fine, a blessing in and of itself. Madame Pomfrey had said that had Fleur not cast that first stasis charm and removed his shirt, the damage to Draco's throat would probably have been irreversible. As it was, there was a good chance that he would have some faint scarring as there was no real way to magically heal the wounds from Lampries Puss.

When he had come to, in the Hospital Wing after several hours of hurried care and unconsciousness, Fleur had been waiting for him. He had stared at her in disbelief, and demanded in a hoarse voice what she was doing there.

She'd told him that he really should have taken her suggestion to heart and he had looked away in shame. She'd left when he'd promised that he'd actually consider it – his health was not worth his pride, apparently.

Fleur cursed herself as she read William's letter, knowing that had she been even a little less slow-moving this morning that she could have prevented all that pain.

_Dear Fleur,_

_Draco Malfoy is the next target. I can't go into the full details of what has happened to drive them to this opinion, but it probably has something to do with the actions of his family during the war. Also apparently Lucius Malfoy's mother's sister's cousin twice removed was a veela, so they're horrible dirty creature fetishizes if you follow the logic of these people. Which is impossible. Even Dumbledore at his worst made more sense than these people, I swear to Merlin._

_I felt so conflicted when asked to participate in the setup of this most recent attack. It almost felt like family obligation when I agreed, rather than information gathering and attempting to sabotage the packaging (I was unable to, give him my regrets.). While I hate the Malfoy family name, I cannot deny the fact that I think that they should not be targeted because of a distant relation passing on some blood that is not entirely human into their system. I know firsthand that veela blood does not make a person into a gigantic prat, that has far more to do with upbringing and old money. _

_Tell Minerva and the others that the attacks are planned at short notice and pass along the attached list of names to her so that she may inform the aurors. _

_With regards to your note: I understand. I figured that it was only a matter of time. I asked because it seemed prudent, but selfish at the same time. I'm sorry for that. It was not my place. I wish you good luck and hope that once I am free of this playacting we can actually have a conversation about how best to end this._

_Your friend,_

_Bill_

**End Act Two**

_big thank you to all my reviewers!_


	20. Intermission Two

**Golden Haze – Intermission Two**

AN: And now the meat of the plot sets in. Draco's attack was for a reason, Hermione is going to begin her campaign to fix the laws she doesn't like. Fleur is at the center of this for some reason, her personhood and her veela nature clashing violently. More time bridging going on here. It's December now.

Thanks to everyone for your kind reviews! They mean so much to me!

Music of the Story: Yaz - Move Out

* * *

A letter received by Mrs. Ariel Hopson, senior staff editor of the _Daily Prophet_. Promptly relayed to her direct superior, Olsen Archer, editor in chief of the newspaper:

_To the editor of the _Daily Prophet –

_It has recently come to this reader's attention the harsh difference in the treatment of citizens with magical creature ancestry and those without it at the hands of the Ministry. While I, myself, am muggleborn, I find the treatment of such individuals to be appalling. There is no reason to restrict an individual simply because of an ancestor that could be many generations removed, and yet the ministry finds cause to force such individuals to register with several different departments. Their actions are more closely monitored than those of former Death-Eaters awaiting trial for justification that makes sense to this reader. _

_I urge the _Daily Prophet_ to put their best investigative reporter on this subject and to dig into the matter. The policies were put into place during _[name redacted –ed.]_'s reign of terror and need to be overturned_. _To continue to have such rules in place makes this new and just wizarding government, so recently free of evil, no better than its predecessors._

_M+G – concerned citizens_

_Printed December 10th, 1998_

x

One encoded letter from William Weasley to Fleur Delacour, spelled with a humorous password dating back to a misadventure in Egypt:

_Dear Fleur_

_They trust me, only they do not. They want to target you and whoever's been writing those letters to the _Daily Prophet_ for their next attack. I keep telling them that you can't be attacked because it would obviously implicate me. They don't believe that I could be sold out so easily, but I have told them time and time again that betrayal was so rife during the last war that the order would implicate me before all others._

_It's been a month since my last letter and things have stalled on this end. I have gone out on a few of their missions, but mostly they keep me in the dark. When those letters to the editor in the paper started, they wanted to move, to go to the offices and track down the sender and make an example of them – but they could not as it was obviously too public. I fear that once they find out the identity of that person through other means, however, it may be too late and they will act without conscience. _

_If the individuals who are behind that letter writing campaign are who I have believe them to be, then they are both in grave danger (not to mention rather paradoxically working together, don't you think?). These people will stop at nothing short of revealing themselves to the public eye for their cause. Raising public awareness is not the best course of action in a time like this._

_Fleur, please, I know that you at least have influence over a part of this group, tell them to stop before it is too late. We can't risk her; she's too valuable to you and to Harry. _

_If at all possible, she should try and go home with Harry or Ron over Christmas, I don't think she will be alright by herself (or alone with her letter-writing compatriot) because these people know how to manipulate things in the muggle world. After all her family went through during the war, I don't think that it would be wise to act rashly at this point in time._

_Bill_

x

One newspaper clipping by R. Skeeter, who, despite everything, is still the best investigative journalist the _Daily Prophet_ has on staff.

LONDON – Tall, dark and foreboding, Minister for Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt has granted this reporter a special interview with regards to the recent attacks on those citizens of this great country of ours that have magical creature blood. We sat down in his office to discuss several topics regarding this situation

RS – Thank you once again for agreeing to speak with me, Minister Shacklebolt, I understand that these are very trying times.

KS – It is no problem, I am here to assist all of wizarding Britain in any way I can.

RS – What can you tell our readers about why the laws that restrict such beings, usually reserved for those who are a danger to themselves or others, are still on the books? This was not the way that it was before the war, Minister.

KS – Those laws were put into place during the previous government in an attempt to circumvent old prejudices. Voldemort, despite many of his followers being of such origins, could not stand the idea of an impure wizarding race. He, we have uncovered through internal memos and documents from the previous government, set into place these laws in hopes that someday the race would be completely free of both the muggle born and magical creatures. We believe that this was wrong and are working to change such laws.

RS – You would have the support should you simply force the laws through chambers, why have you not done this, Minister?

KS – The current political climate is such that to do such an act would be considered no better than what the previous government did in the eyes of many of the muggleborn witches and wizards that live in our society. Because it is incredibly uncommon for a muggleborn to possess creature blood in the first place such legislation would be seen as catering to the older, more traditional families in our society. We've tested this extensively in focus groups and are trying to find a way to write an all-inclusive non-discrimination act that includes everyone.

RS – What is the timetable on that?

KS – As soon as we can get something that everyone can agree upon.

RS – Can you comment on how the recent attacks of those with creature ancestry are affecting your plans with this legislation?

KS – At the moment, I cannot, I would direct you to speak to the director of magical law enforcement in that regard. A task-force has been put together.

_Continued on page D-5_

x

One legal document prepared jointly between one H. Granger and D. Malfoy regarding the ethical treatment of those witches and wizards descended from magical creatures.

Title I –

(a) The government and all other authoritative bodies within the nation, shall refrain from Discrimination against any of the following individuals.

i. Those born to non-magical familes

1. Known as "muggles" colloquially, also defined as individuals who are mix-ed origins, such as those who have a half-blood or pure-blooded mother or father and the other parent is of non-magical birth.

ii. Those who have magical creature ancestry

2. Being descended from such beings as banshees, veela, vampires, giants and other non-threatening magical creatures humanoid in form

iii. Those who become magical creatures through exigent circumstances

3. Such as werewolves or vampires

x

One dirty look from one R. Weasley to one D. Malfoy, both of whom are trying to ignore the past in order to solve the present crisis.

"I don't know what you an' Hermione are getting up to, Malfoy, but if you hurt her, I will make you wish you'd never been born."

"Thank you, Weasel, but with my hands as they currently are, the most I could do would be to splatter ink over her face. But as freckles seem to be a _thing_ with you, I can only assume you'd like the addition."

x

One hastily passed note in during the first pre-test for the Defense NEWT.

_Hermione, we must speak and soon. I have received word from William that your letter writing campaign with Draco Malfoy has been noticed by our enemies. He thinks you will be targeted next, we must discuss Christmas plans. _

_Fleur_


	21. Act Three, Scene One

**Golden Haze, Act Three, Scene One**

**AN: **Hey everyone, how did you like the last chapter? The response was not nearly as good as it's been in the past. I know that it's an interlude chapter that says little about the relationship between Fleur and Hermione, but it's important to the plot guys. Please don't abandon me and this story; not we're so close to the end!

This has been done for like a day, the stupid site wouldn't let me upload. Anyway enjoy!

This chapter deals some with past abuse and internal homophobia. Just so everyone knows!

**Music of the Story: The Proclaimers – "I'm on My Way" **

* * *

Her rooms were cold. With December had come the chill that Fleur Delacour had had burned into her memories the day that she jumped into the half-frozen over lake outside of Hogwarts School in mid-February. Fleur shivered despite her thick wool over-robe and sweater made by William's mother. It was just as deathly cold in the late afternoon in this part of the castle. Back then she had not been able to perform warming charms with the speed and accuracy that she could now, after going through a Mastery program and a war – the mind-numbing cold of that lake still plagued Fleur's nightmares.

Glaring at the fire that was not doing nearly enough to warm the room, she cast a warming charm around herself and reached into her pocket to pull on the fingerless gloves that she'd put there earlier this morning when her classroom had been so cold that she'd had to wear them in order to even write on the chalkboard. She pulled them on and was in the process of levitating the kettle into the fireplace when there was a quiet knock on her door. Two short, one loud and resonating. The Order of the Phoenix's coded knock that Hermione had commandeered to be the signal that it was her, and not someone else, knocking on Fleur's door.

She glanced over her shoulder and bid the newcomer entrance. When the curly hair and equally bundled form of Hermione Granger squeezed around the door before pushing it shut once again. Any slower of a movement and all the heat that Fleur had so carefully gathered into the cold rooms would have escaped. Fleur smiled at her, already warmed by the mere presence of the other woman. "'ermione," she said, stepping forward.

The distance between them was crossed in a few short steps by each party. Fingers linked together, and Fleur drew Hermione close to her, enjoying the warmth and the smell of her lover. She smelled of books and old magic, residual from the day's lessons. Veela could smell such things, even if humans could not. Fleur kissed the top of Hermione's head, her cheeks burning.

It still felt strange to be so intimate with this girl that until very recently she had been dead set on avoiding for the rest of her life. Her body was still growing used to having the veela be there constantly without being quashed. The haze was all-but gone now, a gentle twinkling on the corners of her vision as she tilted Hermione's chin up to claim her lips. The veela was content with these kisses and the few times that they'd gone further; Fleur was not going to push it further. Not until they could truly be together without the added complication of William, these attacks, and the horrible laws that Hermione was so desperate to change.

The kiss was chaste at first, but Hermione pushed her tongue forward and soon it became much more. Fleur took one, two steps backwards and pulled the shorter girl down into her lap. Their tongues were caught in a ferocious battle, Fleur sucking eagerly on what was offered to her as Hermione took and took again. She liked it when Hermione was like this, aggressive and taking from Fleur the pleasure she wanted.

Too soon though, Fleur felt Hermione pull away. Their eyes met as Hermione retreated, a smile blossoming across her lover's face. "'lo Fleur," Hermione said, the corners of her eyes crinkling upwards at the corners, full of beauty and laughter. Fleur loved seeing her like that, it made her look far less the worried soul that Fleur knew was hidden just below that beautiful smile.

"Sorry to come so late," Hermione continued. The firelight reflected on her eyes, filling them with mischief and something that Fleur could not place. Logic told her it was flirting, but she had never been particularly skilled at that (one of veela heritage did not need to be, as many were completely gobsmacked by beauty alone) to begin with. The words tied in her mouth then, but flirting came easily to Hermione and Fleur enjoyed the game. "There's this professor who keeps assigning me in-depth research projects."

Fleur laughed. She had assigned research projects for over the Christmas holidays to her seventh year class in class earlier that day. Hermione had looked intrigued at her topic, and had raised her eyebrows at Fleur over the parchment containing the assignment details that Fleur had distributed to the class. She leaned back, arms stretched out over the back of the couch. "Maybe it is because your professor thinks that you 'ave the mind for research and do it well?"

Again, Hermione's eyebrows shot up, questioning, curious. She huffed indignantly and replied, "Well, maybe if this professor would tell me when I will _ever_ use that particular branch of curse breaking in the real world…"

Shifting her weight, Fleur was able to shift Hermione's center of gravity closer to her, and the curly-haired woman pitched forward against her chest. Fleur wrapped her arms around Hermione and whispered, her lips dangerously close to that place on Hermione's ear that made her positively _moan_ with pleasure, "Tombs. In Egypt."

"I don't want to go into archeology." This pronouncement was accompanied with a long-suffering sigh and Fleur laughed again. That had not been why she'd assigned the project to Hermione. She had thought it a nice change of pace from the scores of magical law tomes that she had been burning through as of late. Hermione's mental health was partially her responsibility at this point in time. The veela inside of her dictated that she protect Hermione with her life. That was what mates did, and those who did such audacious things as bond on All Hallows with someone that they were not married to were subject to far stricter rules.

Fleur sighed quietly, trying not to think about the rash act that had connected their hearts for an eternity. She had yet to really fully examine the implications of such an action. She had been so busy working on both Hermione's side project for the Order and her own classwork. It had been a foolish idea to have so many essays and tests due in the last month, but now her time was freeing up and the dread had once again begun to set in.

She'd _bonded_. In the veela way. While still technically married to another. Such a sin was unheard of in veela culture. She could not bear the shame of asking her grandmere or mother for help with such a problem – and Gabrielle was far too young to understand. She did not to know, but she knew she had to. If there were implications beyond what Fleur already suspected, they were colossally fucked. She just hoped that William would understand, he had hinted that he did.

"You are seeing a cursebreaker by trade, it is good to know such things." Fleur pointed out, violently shoving the veela's alarm and confusion and her own insecurities down with a bright smile that felt entirely fake across her face. She was going to divorce William as soon as she could and be rid of all this additional stress. "Besides, it is an interesting topic for research. I could give you Monsieur Potter's topic if you really are that befuddled by this one."

Hermione laughed, her breath hot against Fleur's neck. "Its fine, Fleur, I was just joking." She sat up her hands resting on Fleur's shoulders. "Besides, spells against vampires? Not nearly as interesting." Her tone was serious, but it was accompanied with a very Minerva McGonagall like look.

At that point Fleur could not help but really and truly grin at Hermione. "I 'ad figured."

They fell into silence for a moment, the fire crackling and the room growing steadily warmer as they leached off of each other's warmth, not looking at each other. They did not need to, not any more. That was what the bonding meant. An awareness of each other that could hardly be explained in terms of conventional magic. This was the mark of the veela. Something on those of Fleur's heritage could create, and she cherished every second of what she had made with Hermione. This was an aspect of her heritage that she could love without the rest of her own mental challenges with the veela inside her.

"What are we going to do about Christmas?" Hermione asked abruptly, cutting through the comfortable silence that they had lapsed into, leaning against each other, Hermione's fingers tangled in Fleur's hair, Fleur's fingers tracing slow patterns across Hermione's back.

(You will go back to playacting.)

_Tais-toi_, Fleur thought violently at the veela. She had been avoiding thinking about it almost as much as she'd been avoiding thinking of their bonding. She did not want to go spend another week or so in such a hostile environment. She supposed that at least Harry would be there, and he knew at least _some_ of what was going on. Fleur liked him, always had, he was a good person and a very good friend to Hermione, even if their closeness infuriated the veela.

She would have to deal with that aspect of her personality in time, but she hoped that it would resolve itself before she and Hermione move on to the point in their relationship where such petty jealously would be an issue.

Fleur grit her teeth, her cheeks burning in the shame of having to admit how completely _unenthused_ she was at the idea of getting the cold shoulder from Molly and Ginny Weasley for a week. After that she could go back to Shell Cottage and maybe even meet this man that William seemed to be interested in. She hoped that that poor man could understand their situation, it certainly was complicated enough. "I was planning on going to the Burrow since I cannot return 'ome." It was an announcement that stank of finality and Fleur hated it.

"You can't?" Hermione had removed her fingers from Fleur's hair and sat back, looking confused as Fleur stared at Hermione's sweater, not wanting to look up and into her eyes.

"The laws restrict travel out of the country without a special permit." Fleur said, ruing the day that ever left France in the first place. She had had her reasons and they were still crystal clear in her mind, but the ache of not having her family around her drove Fleur to rash moments of regret. She would not have traded this for the world, but to not see Gabrielle's smiling face for four long years was an ache not even finally achieving the happiness the veela longed for could replace.

"What?" Hermione's eyes widened at the realization. Fleur guessed that she had not known. The restrictions were not widely reported and those under them did not choose to speak of them readily, as the humiliating implication was not lost on any of the audience. "I did not realize it was that bad. I'm sorry Fleur."

"You 'ave commandeered Monsieur Malfoy while 'e is in the 'ospital wing to 'elp you write a replacement law, 'ermione. I thought you knew." She was lying, because she knew that even if Draco Malfoy knew of such a law he probably would not have said anything of it. It was not to be discussed in polite company, and certainly not around politically-minded muggleborns with a mind for changing societal mores that they didn't agree with.

"It isn't in the original text of that law… bugger, is there another one we missed?" Hermione scooted off of Fleur's lap and grabbed her discarded school bag from the floor by the door. She pulled it open and produced a notebook that was obviously muggle-made and the stub of a pencil. She returned to sit next to Fleur, snuggling against Fleur's taller form and jotting down notes.

"I do not know." Fleur said honestly. She had thought it was included in the original law that had been written restricting those like her to travel within the county without special permits. If it wasn't there were far-reaching implications and Hermione's project with Draco Malfoy might all be for naught. If there was more than one law, there was a chance that they couldn't ride Harry Potter's influence and actually get the law changed. Fleur shifted uncomfortably as Hermione continued to scribble.

"I'll look into it over Christmas," she muttered, closing the notebook and jamming her pencil down the wire binding. She looked at Fleur for a long time, just staring at her with that curious and evaluating gaze. Fleur felt strange under the scrutiny, but said nothing. The veela was intrigued, and Fleur felt that curiosity fill her. What was Hermione thinking? Her face was so blank that it was impossible to tell.

Hermione tapped her finger on her chin, folding the corner of her notebook cover down and creasing the thicker cardboard, "And don't be weird about Malfoy. He was trapped up there and he is one of the few students in this school who actually knows anything about magical law. He wants to see the laws changed too."

Fleur's eyes narrowed. She could not understand why Hermione was so quick to trust him. She understood that he was one of the few people in the school who could help Hermione with this project and that this was his trial-by-fire in terms of the Order of the Phoenix. She did not think that Minerva McGonagall of all people would look past the sins of the father when it came to the son. Fleur had had enough time to know that Draco Malfoy was one singularly _driven_ individual. He was a good person, if not one with a highly abrasive personality.

Still, there was the problem of his father. Lucius Malfoy had been involved, _deeply_ involved with the inner workings of the Dark Lord's inner circle. His house had been their headquarters and the location of the torture of Hermione.

Fleur bit her lip. She could never forgive such actions. Even though the one who did them was dead by Molly Weasley's hand, there was no way that she could ever forgive such events from transgressing in the first place. Veelas do not forgive and they do not forget.

_An elephant never forgets._ A line from a muggle film that she'd seen as a child rang through her mind and there was a thought that she could not forget. She would not forgive Draco Malfoy for what he had allowed to happen. She finally, after several long moments of trying to find the right words, decided on what she was going to say, "'e is probably using this as a starting point to a career in politics."

Hermione bit her lip. Fleur's breath caught at the gesture. It was darkly sensual given the context of their relationship. "I am aware," she muttered. There was that gleam in her eyes that Fleur could not place. It seemed to shine with a fire that Fleur could barely place. It looked like Hermione was taken with something that words failed. The question of noble justification that Gryffindor faced on a daily basis. Who were they going to throw their support behind, and where their loyalties lay. To put stock in a Slytherin was unheard of for a Gryffindor, but Hermione had been defying the odds since she had started school.

Fleur watched as Hermione thought about what to say next, angry at herself for doubting Hermione's judgment. It was not her place, and she had made so many mistakes in her life that it did not seem fair to Hermione to not let the younger woman make a few before she understood the consequences. "I think he really just wants to protect his mum, she's under a lot of pressure because of the magical creature laws as well as the restrictions the Ministry has put on his family due to his father's actions during the war. Harry's word could only go so far."

Fleur sighed. She had been curious about that, and it did make sense. Harry Potter had tried unsuccessfully to get the Malfoy name cleared over the summer and had at least managed to exonerate Draco and his mother. The Veela inFleur had not approved of his actions then, but she was not one to say anything to the savior of the wizarding world. It was not her place, and Hermione had forgiven Draco whatever trespass he had committed against her in school after a few afternoons of conversation in the Hospital Wing.

She had to change the subject, she was going to say something she'd regret. Fleur cast her thoughts around wildly, trying to think of something to get Hermione off the topic of Draco Malfoy. The veela was pushing on her consciousness, dragging her downwards and putting words in her mouth. They had been talking about _Christmas_, and how Fleur could not return home. "What are you going to do over Christmas? Are you going to come to the Burrow with me?" Fleur asked quietly, not meeting Hermione's eyes as she very blatantly changed the subject.

She had made her thoughts clear to Hermione, explaining how the veela saw it. Just as she had offered to help Draco as a favor to his mother, she would allow Hermione to make her own decision regarding him. She could not forget the harrowed look on Hermione's face that day that she and the others had arrived at Shell Cottage. It was not directly Draco Malfoy's fault, but his involvement made it impossible for the veela in her to overlook.

"Wouldn't that… be awkward?"

Fleur ran a hand through her hair, leaning back and resting her head on the back of the couch. "It 'as the potential, yes."

(If you let it be so, it will be so.)

_What does that even mean?_ Fleur demanded of the veela, the golden haze creeping into the corners of her vision as she tried to push down the angry thoughts of the veela. Her control now that she had finally started to accept its presence had been far better than in the past, but she had trouble with it at times. The veela's anger at what had happened to Hermione was one of the hardest things for Fleur to repress. It still escaped her at times and she hated when her words cut through Hermione or anyone around her, harsh and cruel.

Hermione chewed on her lip thoughtfully for a moment before answering. "I need to go home, Fleur. I have to see my family." As Fleur looked down at her hands, Hermione continued, "I haven't told them, about us."

Her blood ran cold.

Yet _another _thing that she had not counted on, or thought about before this point. Fleur cursed her poor timing and bad judgment and swallowed the bile that welled up in her throat. This would not be easy. She did not know how muggles were going to handle her heritage, the bonding, or even that she was a woman. Wizarding society, save for the firstborn rule, generally did not care about such relationships. They were frowned upon in old families with few heirs, but on a whole they were treated the same as any other couple.

Her reading of the muggle newspapers, however, dictated that this was the precise opposite in muggle society. How they could deny love basic rights was completely beyond her, but Fleur did not want to push it with Hermione's parents. Not before she and William detangled themselves from each other.

"Ah." She said simply, biting back the word vomit that threatened to come out.

"It isn't that I'm ashamed of us or anything. I just… don't know how to tell them." Hermione said quickly, her hand on Fleur's knee before she had even finished speaking. Her eyes were pleading, begging Fleur to understand.

Fleur did, but she did not want to admit it. To admit that she knew what she was getting Hermione into when she started this whole thing was not the right thing to do. She didn't know what else to say, other than that she was sorry she'd inflicted such a thing on one so innocent.

Hermione shifted slightly, her arms wrapped around Fleur. Fleur lowered one comforting arm to rest on the other girl's back and stared off into space, wondering what she could possibly say to make this alright.

"My parents are scientific people, they don't judge much. They accepted my being a witch very quickly." Hermione muttered into Fleur's chest, her voice making pleasant vibrations as she spoke.

"They also do not really know what magic can do, 'ermione. You told me that they did not understand just how powerful magic really is." Fleur tired not to think about how the tears had been so clearly visible on Hermione's cheeks that day at The Burrow last summer when she'd gotten back from Australia. Her parents had been angry, so incredibly angry, that she'd chosen to protect them. Fleur had longed to go to her then, but Harry and Ronald had been there, holding her close and not letting her fall as she cried.

Resting her chin on the top of Hermione's head, Fleur said quietly, "Be 'onest, explain my 'eritiage and 'ow it gives me no choice."

Hermione sat up, Fleur's chin knocking against the top of her head as she did so, her eyes blazing with a fire that Fleur could not place. This was indignation, the veela knew it well. "I like to think that you chose to fall in love with me."

"I did, oui." Fleur smiled, running her fingers along Hermione's cheek. She took a deep breath, and asked the question that had been plaguing her since before Fleur had even taken the job at Hogwarts. "Is it because I am female?"

Hermione looked away. "That is a part of it." There was a hint of shame in her voice that made Fleur reach out and pull her back in close.

_You cannot be ashamed, beautiful one. This is too wonderful to be ashamed of._

"I'm so sorry Fleur, I don't have the strength to do something else to them, not after I hurt them so badly by taking their memories away. They saw the scars, from Bellatrix LeStrange, over the summer. I tried to explain it away, but they knew without my saying anything." Hermione was close to crying, the hiccup was evident in her voice as she let Fleur pull her in closer.

"Oh 'ermione." Fleur muttered, "You are so strong." Her emotions were far darker, however. Hermione's parents could not hurt her again like their rejection upon her undoing her memory charm, Fleur could not let that happen. Not to a girl who had done so much to save their world.

"I'm scared Fleur." Hermione said into Fleur's sweater. "The attacks are getting more frequent and I've started writing those letters to the _Prophet_ at Professor McGonagall's suggestion – since we're working on the law anyway."

"She approves of your working with 'im?" At this Fleur raised an eyebrow. She had no idea that the reason that Hermione and Draco were working together was because of a suggestion from the headmistress. Honestly, it made more sense that way. Given the past bad blood between the two of them it had been so _jarring_ to see their collaborative effort over the past month while Draco's hands recovered to the point where he could once again hold a wand.

He'd been released from the hospital wing the previous week and Fleur had seen a lot more of Hermione after that point.

"More than Harry or Ron do." Hermione said, sitting up and wiping at her red eyes. There was a damp patch on Fleur's sweater but she paid it no mind. The wool would dry in time. "Harry offered to help, but has instead been trying to catch him up on defensive magic. Not that he can do anything with his hands like this."

"Mn." Fleur agreed, leaning forward to gently kiss Hermione's forehead.

"It's strange," Hermione sighed dramatically before continuing, "how a war can change something that's been set in stone since before we even got to Hogwarts. When he apologized to Harry this summer, I didn't know what to think – but I do think that he just wants to help. He knows stuff that a lot of us don't."

Fleur felt like her mother, but her tone turned severe as she spoke, "'as he apologized to you? I saw 'ow 'e was to you in school."

Hermione nodded. "Before we started working on the law together, he said that he was an ass who didn't know any better and was mad about my beating him in marks most of the time." She shrugged, shoulders lost in school robes and sweater rising and falling against her hair, "I don't know how sincere he was being, but he did seem to actually be remorseful. He saved us, back then too."

"That is something, then." Fleur shrugged as well, "Those of my 'eritiage are far less quick to trust people, 'ermione."

Her cheeks burned and Fleur smiled at her. She was cute when she blushed, cute when she was flattered or embarrassed. Fleur knew Hermione was embarrassed now, at the idea that Fleur would defend her honor. The tinge of pink to her cheeks and the way her bangs fell down and into her eyes gave her away. "I know." Hermione said, "Will I see you at Christmas at all?"

Fleur nodded, glad that the conversation had returned to topics that did not make her self-control waver. "I would think so," she said, mentally calculating where the meeting location would be and if they'd even be able to get Draco Malfoy there to give a full report without a Weasley attempting to right all past wrongs of that long-standing blood-feud. She would make a point of mentioning to Minerva before they left that a neutral location was a must. "The Order plans to move on the information that William has gathered then."

Hermione leaned forward and pressed her lips against Fleur's, warm and friendly and inviting. Fleur could not resist that kiss, those fingers and that look of complete adoration. They kissed in earnest for a few long minutes before Hermione pulled away to whisper, her cheeks burning against Fleur's cooler skin. "I don't want to leave you."

"I know, 'ermione." Fleur replied, kissing her once more. "We will make the best of it we can."

x

_Grandmere –_

_I must go back to that place and this play acting once again. I hate it. They do not accept me for myself, but rather as the woman their gay son married to take away both of our troubles. They do not know the half of it, fools._

_I am at peace. I have found my way and while it is not the same as the one you suggested, I am finally starting to become whole. I hate that too. _

_It has been a part of my identity for so long that it fills me with puzzlement to be without it, the hatred of the veela. To have happiness is to be at peace and I do not think that I am equipped to handle that fact at this time._

_And so I retreat, run back to what I know with stolen kisses and feeling bipolar._

_I want to come home, but I cannot. The laws will not let me and it is not safe to break them. The Aurors and my so-called-father-in-law are forced to uphold them while they are on the books. That is the problem of magical law._

_The government will fall if this is not done correctly. I worry that there is no way it can be done well._

_It's Christmas, I should be happy, right?_

_I can only hope that with midwinter comes happiness that I am not entirely sure I deserve._

_Give my love to mama and Gabby,_

_Fleur_

x

_Dearest Fleur – _

_Get William to sign these and be done with it._

_Grandmere_

Out of the envelope fell several papers prepared by a solicitor that her father kept on retainer. She swallowed; her grandmother had sent her divorce papers.


	22. Act Three, Scene Change One, Interlude

**Golden Haze, Act Three, Interlude One**

**AN: Holy unplanned chapter, batman**

Sorry to put an interlude in here so quickly, but I had to keep moving on with some of the things that I started to talk about in the previous chapter in more detail and I didn't want it to just _suddenly_ be Christmastime and everything. This chapter was unplanned, but I really do thing that it was important to the plot.

Hopefully the site has worked out its issues so y'all can review. :3

Music of the Story: Tokyo Police Club – Your English is Good

* * *

She, unlike her friends and the others in her year, did not apparate home. Instead Hermione Granger cast one last look over her shoulder at the tall and cloaked form of Fleur Delacour, standing on the train platform with Harry, Ron and Ginny, and boarded the train. She had gone down to Hogsmeade the previous weekend and apparated to a nearby muggle town to use a payphone and call her mother to tell her of her holiday plans. Hermione had done it the muggle way because she wanted to be old and familiar – not the alien magical being that she had apparently become in the eyes of her parents.

She sat on the train with two first year Hufflepuffs and played some exploding snap with them before pulling out the book that she'd been working her way though and settling in to read for the rest of the trip. The pages turned as the two young girls chattered away and Hermione found herself lost once again in the world of learning.

This was a book that Fleur had given her about veela. Or rather, the one that Fleur had quite accidentally allowed Harry to borrow for the DA that Hermione had _forgotten_ to return very much on purpose. The veela were a mysterious race, plagued with the impractical and yet not entirely unheard of in magical creature communities problem of single-person attraction. Hermione found that reading about the aspect of Fleur that she so deeply detested was both fascinating and deeply troubling. There were so many things that Fleur had yet to tell her about what it meant to be a veela. So many things that Hermione did not, as of yet, understand.

On Halloween they had done something, the book had mentioned it briefly (along with a few hastily scribbled lines in French that Hermione assumed Fleur had added to the margin) but other than that it was silent on the subject. She wondered if they had violated some sort of taboo and because of this Fleur was being very careful to avoid talking about what they had done. She had tried to ask, but Fleur was clever and could silence even the most persistent of Hermione's questions with a few quick kisses and apologies about not being able to be completely honest at this moment.

Hermione blamed the marriage law, and steeled her will more completely to change it if it was the last thing she did.

Pages fell by the wayside as she read, the countryside becoming more densely settled and the almost-winter night growing cold and dark around her.

Just before they arrived at King's Cross Station, Hermione shoo'ed the two first years out of their shared train compartment for a moment so that she could pull on a pair of worn jeans and a sweater (one of the few she owned not made by Molly Weasley) over her school blouse. She did not have any interest in presenting as anything other than a normal girl home for her final Christmas before she completed school. She pulled on her winter coat and pulled the door to the compartment back open to find the two first years waiting patiently. Thanking them, she returned the favor so that they could change in peace.

The train whistled loudly as it pulled into the station and Hermione tucked her book into her pocket and hitched the duffle she'd brought with her clothes in it further up her shoulder. After jostling by the door for a minute and almost getting run over by a pair of fifth years laughing about something positively _lewd_, Hermione stepped out onto Platform 9¾ and inhaled deeply. It smelled of London and of city and of _muggles._

She was home.

Her parents were waiting just outside the barrier when she crossed and she hugged them out of habit and tried not to think about how angry her father had been at her when she'd finally explained what she had done to keep them safe. She had not had the words then to make them understand, and she still did not.

The hurt was evident in her mother's eyes as she held Hermione at arm's length, considering her carefully.

"You've lost weight," she said at length.

"I've been under a lot of stress," Hermione replied. Her father had picked up her duffle from where she had dropped it onto the dirty floor of the train station and had slug it over his shoulder.

"The car's in the carpark across the street," he said, pointing to the exit they'd need to take. "Hope you're bundled up, Hermione, it's a bit nippy outside."

She laughed and followed her parents out the doors, unable to quell the nervous feeling in the pit of her stomach. She had so much to tell them, and she was not entirely sure how much they were going to want to hear.

x

"Mum, can I talk to you and dad?" She'd been home for three days and the ache of not being around Fleur was almost too much for her to mentally handle. She had never really dated someone before. Ron, she supposed, but she had never missed him as though a part of her heart was missing just by being apart. She longed to apparate over to The Burrow to see her friends and to check up on how Bill's reconnaissance work was going, but she knew that she could not until the order meeting, still a few days away. The newspaper had been publishing her letters faithfully, and the reporting on the attacks had gotten a lot better since Rita Skeeter (still a good reporter despite the drivel she'd written about Albus Dumbledore) had been put on the story.

She was worried, heartsick, and she knew that she desperately needed to clear the air between herself and her parents or else the chance to do so would be completely ripped away from her by the bombshell she knew that she needed to drop on them as soon as humanly possible.

Her father had appropriated her copy of the _Daily Prophet_ and was reading it with his eyebrows raised as he compared it to a story out of _The Financial Times_. The article, Hermione noted, was about the current Prime Minister's want to push some legislation with regards to restrictions on certain types of airplanes through parliament. The _Prophet's_ article had talked about the implication of 'muggle flying tubes' being rerouted over traditional areas of denser wizarding populations and how to best protect one's self from such a device if one were to encounter one on a broom. Hermione watched his eyebrows climb higher and higher up his forehead as he read and tried not to shake her head.

They really didn't understand the wizarding world. And she had no real way of helping them to understand it.

"Sure sweetie, what is it?" Her mother asked, taking a bookmark and carefully marking the page of her novel with it.

Hermione sat on the couch, staring at her hands, flexing them. She thought of Draco Malfoy's hands, still so scarred (probably beyond repair) from an attack that had nothing to do with him and everything to do with his mother's-aunt's-second-cousin-twice-removed or some equally distant relation who happened to be a veela. There was no way that her parents could ever really understand the world that she had been born into, nor the power that she now possessed. She was one of the brightest of her age, if the school reports and McGonagall's boasting were to be believed, yet she could not explain magic to her parents.

She chose her words carefully, still staring at her hands. "I wanted to apologize for what I did." She looked from her mother to her father, so innocent and so blissfully unaware of all that had happened in the last year. "It was out of line. I should have found some way to explain it to you better."

Her mother frowned, leaning over to squeeze Hermione's shoulder. "It's alright sweetie, you did what you had to do."

"To do what I did is _illegal_ mum," Hermione stressed. "It is against the law to tamper with a person's memory even slightly and I erased _myself_. I could go to prison for what I did. I probably should." She shook her head. "But I won't. It's not because I helped defeat Voldemort or because I am Harry Potter's best friend, but because they cannot lose me. I am too important to them."

Her father grunted and folded the paper, leaning forward, listening intently.

"So I wanted to say that I'm sorry. I was wrong to do it. I hope you understand that I knew of no other way to protect you from that evil."

Her mother looked sad for a minute, but nodded. "Is this why you've been moping about since you got home?" she asked, her hand squeezing Hermione's shoulder in what she thought was an encouraging gesture. Hermione wanted to shy away from the touch, fearful if it would become violent once she finished speaking.

"No. That is something else." She said, not looking at her mother. The rug, she noticed, was far more frayed that she remembered it being.

Her mother made a thoughtful noise. "Then you are lovesick. Don't worry Hermione; every girl goes through it eventually. It's a sign that you're growing up."

"I'm an adult already mum," The words came out more quickly than she'd intended.

Her father chuckled, "Who is this lucky person?"

Feeling heartened by his lack of gender-specific pronouns, Hermione swallowed whatever fears that still remained in her stomach and began to speak. "The same person who took care of me after I got hurt last year," she didn't know why she was being so vague, but it felt right. She had told her parents, when they had seen the scars that Bellatrix LeStrange had left on her body, how she had gotten better despite the severity of the wounds. How Fleur had held her when she had nightmares and how they still had not spoken of what had happened since (and still had not). How that kindness had not been something she deserved, given her relationship with Fleur at the time. "She's come back to teach at Hogwarts and we were able to spend a lot more time together this year than the last time she was here. Her name is Fleur Delacour, she's French."

"She?" Her mother's hand on her arm was shaking, but her voice was calm. Hermione hoped and prayed that this was a good thing and that nothing bad was about to happen. Every muscle in her body was tense and on edge, her eyes flicking from her mother to her father. She was filled with the urge to flee, to run from the room and expel the bile that had risen in her throat as she spoke.

"I met her when I was in fourth year, mum. Fifteen. She was seventeen at the time." Hermione swallowed, "She was the Beauxbatons champion in the Triwizard Cup."

Her father was silent, his hands clenched into fists, his face a passive mask of calm. Hermione eyed him fearfully as he slowly gathered himself and stood.

"I – I need time," he said, not looking at Hermione. He drew up to Hermione and touched her cheek gently, muttering, "My little girl," before turning and walking out of the room.

There were tears on her face and the clock in the hallway started to chime. It was ten o'clock at night now. Her parents should be going to bed soon. They had to work in the morning.

"Give us time Hermione," Her mother said, standing and collecting her book. "Thank you for apologizing, but please, give us some time."

As she left the room, Hermione hunched forward, palms of her hands pressing against her eyes as she struggled with the torrent of emotions cascading down around her. Soon only her sobs could be heard as her mother's footsteps on the stairs fell quiet.

x

An hour later, Hermione had finally calmed herself down enough to pull the small pouch of floo powder out of her pocket and her wand from its wrist holster. She flicked it in the direction of her family's seldom used fireplace and tossed a pinch of floo powder into the fire, hoping desperately that she'd be able to get in touch with someone who could get her Fleur without too many questions. She hoped she did not look like she'd been crying as she knelt in front of the crackling green flames and said very clearly, "The Burrow," before sticking her head into the flames.

The Weasley's kitchen swam into view and its lone occupant jumped as Hermione's face swam into view. It was quiet, but Hermione had spent enough time at the Weasley household to know that it was only because most of the occupants of the house had retreated to their beds and private conversation. Sitting at the large kitchen table and flipping through a packet of papers, scribbling things here and there, Bill Weasley set his quill down and came to squat in front of the fireplace. "Hey Hermione," he said with a bright smile.

Hermione's stomach turned when she saw that he was not wearing the ring that symbolized that fake marriage on his finger. She had always liked Bill, liked his easy way of smiling and the way he never judged as the rest of his family was sometimes quick to. "Could… could you get Fleur for me?" She asked quietly. She did not trust her voice very much after all the crying she'd done.

"Of course," Bill said with a glance towards the door. His face was drawn and he looked far more worried than she'd seen him in months. She hoped that the undercover work was not taking too much out of him. "Do you want to come through?" He asked as he stood back up.

Hermione shook her head. She did not think it was a good idea for her to go over there and risk Molly Weasley getting involved in her own personal heartbreak. "Your mum, you know."

"Ah," Bill said, nodding as well. Hermione brightened knowing that they had an accord. "You stay put, I'm going to just nip into the other room and get her. She's reading in there with George. Everyone else has gone to bed." With that, he stepped out of view and Hermione bit her lip.

She felt strange and alone, staring into the Weasley's kitchen, flames licking at the side of her face as she waited for the face she longed to see. The door banged open and Bill reappeared, talking quietly as he collected the papers from the table and waved to Hermione. Fleur answered him and then waited until the door closed once again and they were alone.

Hermione stared as Fleur sat cross-legged in front of the hearth, her elbows resting on her knees. She looked as world-weary as Hermione felt, and Hermione found herself speaking without preamble, "I told them, Fleur."

Fleur looked pensive, her fingers catching a lock of hair and twisting it around as she stared thoughtfully at Hermione. "I think they did not take it very well, _non_?"

She wondered how Fleur could be so perceptive. It was next to impossible for Hermione to read Fleur's moods, but Fleur could take one look at her and know what to say. She frowned, "They asked for time. I don't even know what that means." A small sigh escaped her lips, "I miss you." The admission hurt for some reason, like she was trying to be strong for Fleur and her illusion of calm and control had suddenly failed.

She was young still, and she could not handle the rejection. Not again.

Fleur shifted, her eyes sad. "Do you want me to come through?" she asked quietly, her voice low and intense. Hermione shivered, she should not be reacting this way, not at such a time. She wanted Fleur when she spoke that way, wanted her painfully and desperately.

She bit her tongue, knowing that to do this was foolish with her parents still potentially at her. "Could you, just for a few minutes?"

"Of course, let me tell William," She stood and stepped away from the hearth for moment before bending down and offering her hand to Hermione, who plunged her hand into the flame and pulled Fleur back into her own home.

Fleur landed in a heap on the rug her mother had placed in front of the fire. It had a Christmas pattern on it and Hermione remembered making it in primary school, felt shapes and glitter and pompoms dotted its deep green surface. Hermione felt incredibly awkward that Fleur Delacour was standing on her childhood creation. She reached down and pulled Fleur up from the ground where she'd landed and brushed her off – the soot was not that bad (probably because Fleur seemed incapable of getting dirty) and a quick _scorgify_ took care of Hermione's arm and hair.

Hermione swallowed as Fleur looked around, eyes curious. "So… this is a muggle 'ouse," when she spoke, her voice maintained that quietly intense tone that Hermione found so irresistible.

"Yes, keep your voice down, my parents went to bed." She could not help being short, but she felt like she was fifteen again and sneaking around with Harry and Ron once again. They'd never come to visit her here, but she liked to think that Ron, at least, would have had a similar reaction to her parents thoroughly _muggle_ sitting room. This wasn't the time, it was a bad idea, but she _needed_ Fleur so desperately right now, there was no way that she could not allow herself to be pulled into a tight and loving embrace.

"You are so brave," Fleur said quietly. Her fingers played on Hermione's shoulder as Hermione felt herself start to crash. Her breath came in harsh pants as Fleur continued to allow her hands to roam freely across Hermione's back. "Are you alright?"

Hermione inhaled sharply, her breath still hitched as she tried to calm herself. She could handle this; she had handled far worse in the past year.

The thought of her _parents_ no longer loving or accepting her, however, Hermione shook her head to dislodge the thought. "I think so, just very afraid that they'll disown me or something," she admitted, pulling away from Fleur's comforting embrace with a half-hearted smile.

Fleur looked pensive, tapping her finger on her chin as Hermione shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. Hermione was struck in that moment with just how beautiful Fleur was. She looked like Aphrodite herself framed in the pale moonlight that flooded her family's sitting room, her hair glowing almost serenely in the half-light. Hermione used to think that Fleur took her looks for granted, but further examination had proven that fact to be completely the opposite. Fleur was beautiful in a conventional way, but there was a second layer to that – Fleur had a beautiful soul too. That kind of person only shone brightly for one individual.

"I think that if they were wanting to do that, they would 'ave done it right away." Fleur reached out and touched Hermione's cheek. "That would make sense, non?"

Hermione leaned into the touch. "It would," she laughed quietly. "I like the way you think."

Fleur leaned in and pressed her lips against Hermione's. The kiss was chaste, gentle, and above all else, reassuring. Fleur did not longer long, which made Hermione inwardly groan in frustration and debate the merits of dragging Fleur up to her bedroom and using her strongest silencing charms. "You 'ave a most intriguing mind yourself, Mademoiselle Granger," Fleur said with a smirk.

Upstairs, a toilet flushed and Hermione jumped. Fleur looked alarmed as Hermione reached into her pocket and shoved her bag of floo powder into Fleur's hands. "Bugger, they're still awake, you have to go," she hissed, her face burning at the fact that she had not planned for this. She leaned forward and pressed her lips against Fleur's, hoping beyond hope that Fleur would understand. "I love you, I hate to send you away, but please, go. I'll see you in a few days."

Fleur grinned at her, understanding clearly written in her eyes. "I love you too, 'ermione. Be strong, brave lion." She took a pinch of floo powder and threw it into the fire before handing Hermione back her pouch. Hermione watched with sad eyes as Fleur raised her hand and waved. "The Burrow," she said and vanished.


	23. Act Three, Scene Two

**Golden Haze – Act Three, Scene Two**

**AN: **I'm really sorry to anyone who is having trouble believing certain aspects of my story. I'm trying to make it as realistic and as true to canon as I possibly can, but some people still aren't buying it. I'm sorry to all of y'all who can't get into this story because of that.

If anyone is a native French speaker, I used babelfish to translate the few things in this chapter that were in French (I really try to keep things in my native language so that I don't have to do this sort of thing), and I have no way of telling if they're wrong. Correct me if it's horrible? Please? :)

eta: Thanks to SiriusT for helping me with the french translation here!

Music of the Story – Vienna Teng & Nena

* * *

The Weasley's kitchen swam into view as Fleur landed, once again in a heap, on the braided straw mat that Molly Weasley kept there to prevent ash and soot from getting all over the rest of the house. She picked herself up and shook out her shirt, glancing around to see if anyone was still awake. She wasn't sure if George or William would have gone to bed, she had not been gone all that long, after all.

At the kitchen table, William was finishing up the paperwork that he'd been working on earlier, in secret and alone. Fleur felt horrible that he'd had to do it that way, but it was the only way that they could finally nullify this farce. He set down the quill he'd been using and blinked sleepily at her. "I thought you'd spend the night there," he said, raising his eyebrows.

"'er parents were still awake," Fleur said, collapsing into a chair across from William and pulling the papers towards her. Upon inspection, she saw that he had successfully signed every one of the twenty nine places he had to place his mark. She dipped the quill into the waiting ink bottle and started to sign her name to the papers as well. "I would 'ave very much liked to."

_No expectation of spousal alimony_, Fleur read, her eyes narrowed as she signed her name. She had no intention of taking anything from William and he had nothing to ask for from her. She had told him, should Hermione be amiable to the idea, that perhaps someday he could be godfather to their child. That, at least, would solve the foolish heir problem. She had made no promises, however, as this was as much Hermione's decision as it was her own and Fleur could not help but think that doing this in secret, without telling Hermione, was deceit enough.

"Can't believe we're doing this." William tilted his chair backwards, his foot hooked around the table's leg and his hands cradling his head. "I feel so – I don't even know – _exhilarated." _

Fleur signed her name on yet another line and smiled at him. "I am in agreement. This situation was a smart one at the time we came upon it, but now it 'as the feeling like a foolish endeavor."

"You mean _of_, Fleur," William said.

She stuck her tongue out at him. Even now, after years of friendship, the one thing that had brought them together in the first place was her poor grasp of the English language. One day, when she was completely fluent, she would have to thank him for his help. In broken English, just to annoy him. "Once I 'ave signed the last line, our contract is null magically, am I not correct?" She had read through the documentation and knew enough about wizarding divorce to know that because it was a magical ceremony that the only way to sever it was also to do it magically. The actual filing could wait until after the Minister for Magic was able to change the law, but in the eyes of the magic that had once bound their souls together, they would be separated. That was all that either of them really wanted at this point in time.

William nodded. "Don't even think they'd be able to tell unless we went in in person and they scanned us." He gave an elaborate shrug. "Don't know why either of us would be caught anywhere _near _that place though."

He was speaking of the Department of Magical Records, the living, breathing, epitome of the bureaucratic nightmare that was the Ministry of Magic. It was a terrible department, a known consumer of souls – Fleur had heard this fact first hand from some of her goblin coworkers at Gringotts. She was not entirely sure that she believed it, but when she had first reported there upon arrival to the United Kingdom from France to bear the humiliating act of registering herself as a part 'potentially dangerous' magical creature, she could feel the dead air in the place start to creep into her lungs. It stilled them, slowed her breathing to a crawl, sucking out her life force simply due to her presence in the room. Fleur was quite positive that she had never in her life been so desperate to leave a place. This included her swimming expedition into the icy lake outside Hogwarts during the Triwizard tournament.

She flipped through the pages, shoving violently at the thoughts of the cold murky water that she had nearly drowned in and the shame of failing to rescue Gabrielle. She had signed nearly all the pages now. "I wish," she began, pursing her lips and signing yet another line, "That I could make some sort of promise to you, William, about an 'eir."

William's hair fell into his eyes as he stared down at the worn wood of the table. "Don't worry about it, Fleur. Maybe Harry will make me a godfather and save us all the trouble."

"'ave you asked 'im?"

"And say what? I'm a bloody homosexual that needs to name an heir in order to save face in the eyes of wizarding society – please, when you start to pop out babies, name me as a godfather to one of them?" William ran a hand through his hair and groaned loudly.

Fleur dipped her pen into the ink once again; she was on the final line. "I am not the most knowledgeable when it comes to these sorts of things, William. But I will say this: you will be good at fatherhood. Ask 'arry, the worst he can do is say no. I know he does not care about such petty things as who you bring into your bed at night." With that pronouncement, Fleur signed her name on the final line. "I divorce you, William Weasley," she announced, watching as the magic curled around the document.

She knew he could not see it. It was a talent that few other than veela possessed, the ability to see the wild magic that existed in everything. Her research seemed to indicate that it was that that caused the golden haze that plagued her so. The magic severed the bond between them, thin and weak as it was.

They were both finally free.

x

When Hermione arrived in tears the next morning, Fleur supposed that she should not have been all that surprised. There had not had nearly enough time to talk the night before, but Fleur was quite positive that the conversation between Hermione and her parents was _far_ from over. Harry and Ronald converged around her, holding her in their arms and letting her sob onto their shoulders. The veela was indignant, but pragmatic, as Fleur knew that this was the one instant where her presence could only hurt Hermione, not help her.

She was standing just off the foyer, watching as Harry tried to say soothing things to Hermione as Ron looked positively murderous. Her heart broke for the three of them, knowing that their bond was something that she could never truly be a part of. She knew then, how Ginny must feel, watching Harry comfort a girl that was not her and one with whom he shared a bond that words could not do justice.

(You could go to her.) The veela's voice echoed in her head, harsh and predatory.

Fleur shook her head, ever so slightly, she could not. _It would not be practical_. She replied, turning her attention back to the scene before her. She felt like an intruder, a voyeur, watching the scene with no intention of joining in.

"I don't understand," Ronald was saying, his fists clenched angrily at his sides. "Why can't they just understand that you did it for their own good? So that they would not have to risk being _tortured _or worse at the hands of that madman."

Hermione sniffed and whipped her eyes on the corner of Harry's jacket's collar before responding and Fleur felt her heart break just a little bit as he shifted out of the way of her hair – still tangled from the previous night's sleep – and allowed her the indulgence. "Because I did something that was so horrible to them that they could not even comprehend it." She looked down at her hands. "And then I had to go and tell them the other thing."

"What other thing?" Ronald asked and they both glared at him. His cheeks colored brightly and realization dawned on his face. "You _didn't_."

Hermione's duffle bag strap sagged on her shoulder. "I am trying a new tactic with them, complete honesty." She sniffed.

Harry's hand on Hermione's shoulder tightened into a fist. "I take it it's not working out?"

"No, not particularly," Hermione answered. Her eyes brightened and Fleur realized that her feet had moved of their own accord, desperate to comfort the one she loved so much. They were all watching her now, and the veela hissed at the men surrounding her mate.

(Bugger there, 'eh?)

_You and I are going to have a _talk_ later._

"_Salut,"_ Fleur said quietly, stepping fully into view. Playacting had never been her forte, but Fleur was good enough to put on a good show in case Molly Weasley or anyone unaware of the situation in their family was listening. "'ermione, what is the matter?"

Gratitude was clearly visible on Hermione's face as Fleur stepped forward to join their little circle with Hermione in the middle. How she longed, desperately, to lean forward and pull Hermione towards her and into arms, where the veela would know that she would be safe and protected from the cruelty outside. Fleur reached out and placed a hesitant hand on Hermione's shoulder, anything more would not have been worth the risk.

"It's nothing," Hermione said, whipping her eyes once again. Fleur's eyes narrowed but Hermione shook her head slightly, now was not the time to point out to her that she was not being honest with herself. "I'm going to go put my things in Ginny's room – Fleur can you – erm – help me with that?"

"Certainly." Fleur nodded, recognizing the ploy with ease.

Ronald nodded, wrapping his arms around Hermione's shoulders in a quick hug. Fleur silently let the veela seethe inside her and wished that it did not have to be this way. She longed to be able to have the personal unity that so many other part-veela boasted, but it would never come so easily. Not to she who loathed the very being that made up such an integral part of her person. She was finally growing to accept it, when moments like this reared their ugly head, driving her back into the spiral of self-loathing once more.

"Just come back soon 'mione, Da and Gin are out in the shed getting all of the Christmas decorations out. Even if you came at a bad time, you still get to decorate with us, Hermione." Ronald said quietly, as Hermione detangled herself from his arms and smiled thinly at the pair of them.

"Okay," Hermione brushed past Fleur and headed for the stairs, Fleur following her wordlessly. "I'll be done in a minute," Hermione said over her shoulder and began to climb.

Ginny's room was just off the stairs on the second floor. Hermione set her duffle bag down on Ginny's unmade bed and waited until Fleur had fully entered the room before whipping out her wand and warding the door so thoroughly that Fleur was positive that if someone was to walk by it they would be violently flung clear across the hallway.

Before Fleur could think of something whitty to say to Hermione, to tease her about being (rightfully) paranoid, Hermione's arms were tangled around her collar, pulling her down into a kiss that was filled with unspoken emotion. Fleur was caught up in it, unable to react. Her hands came to rest on Hermione's shoulders, holding her steady as her tongue played a savage game against Fleur's. There was wetness on Fleur's cheeks as she sucked on Hermione's lower lip and the sounds of their lips pressing against each other barely concealed Hermione's sobs behind the kiss.

Fleur did not want this, but Hermione was insistent, pulling at her clothing, desperate even in the smallest motion of her body. "Arrêtes, ceci n'est pas l'endroit... " Fleur said, pulling away from Hermione long enough to get the words out. "We could be caught."

Hermione glanced at the door for a minute, before shrugging, "At this point, I don't care." There was a confidence in her tone that Fleur had rarely heard outside of an academic context, and Fleur supposed that she _really_ should trust Hermione Granger's ability, of all people's, to ward a door against intruders.

Her fingers trailed along those wet cheeks, whipping tears away and trying not to let Hermione kiss her once more. Fleur knew that if she did, it would be too far gone; she would not be able to stop. She did not thing Ginny would appreciate them doing this in her bedroom anyway. She took Hermione's hand in her own and looked into sad brown eyes that seemed clouded over with a multitude of emotions that now played across her face. "What 'append? I thought that it went okay."

Hermione broke their staring contest first, glaring at the floor. Her free hand was clenched into a fist and the one in Fleur's own was shaking ever so slightly. "They asked for more time," she said quietly. Her voice was carefully controlled and even. "And they asked me to leave."

Fleur frowned, asking for even more time was not exactly unheard of, but she supposed that she also had to take into account the fact that Hermione had done some things to her parents that could not exactly be construed as legal per say. When she had been hurt and reliving the nightmares of what Bellatrix LeStrange had done to her, she had told Fleur what she had done. Fleur remembered being horrified at having to face such a choice alone – and when Hermione had disappeared over the summer to go and retrieve her parents, Ronald and Molly Weasley both had told her that it had not gone well.

Had Hermione just permanently estranged herself from her parents? Fleur's heart broke as she too looked down, unable to bear the idea of Hermione without her parents. There were enough orphans because of Voldemort already; those whose parents were still alive should not be forced to live as though they were not because of terrible choices that had been made during the war.

"I see," Fleur said, her voice barely above a whisper. Here was a register where she could grasp at straws in English, where she felt the most exposed in her speaking skills. She knew that she was not terrible – but she could not find the words to properly express to Hermione how horrible this was and how sorry she was. All she could do is quietly ask, "Did you want to talk about it?"

Hermione dug in her pocket and pulled out a packet of muggle tissues and blew her nose into one once she shook out the creases in it. "Not really," she said. Her eyes were hurt and angry, as though she could not believe that Fleur was asking. She sniffed once more, "I just need to think about something else for a little while, Fleur. It isn't that I don't want to. Can we talk later tonight, when I feel a bit better?"

She smiled at Fleur then, her face lighting up the entire room. Fleur leaned forward, their foreheads resting against each other, her own smile matching Hermione's (wide and predatory). They were bonded, it did not do to shut each other out. "_Bon,_" she whispered, brushing her lips against Hermione's own. She pulled back and pushed a lock of hair out of her lover's eyes. "'ermione, just because you are in pain gives you no reason to shut me out."

Hermione flushed, denials already on her lips, "It isn't that Fleur, I just don't want to cause you trouble – you know, with Mrs. Weasley and-"

Fleur placed a finger on her lips with a knowing smile. "Ah," she said, knowing that Hermione was going to be _thrilled_ with the news that she and William had to share with her. "Well in that case, why do you not come with me and William tonight when we return to 'ome. You can say you're going to try and reason with your parents again. I - _we_" she stressed, "'ave some news that will lift your spirits."

Curious brown eyes narrowed and Hermione's brow furrowed as she contemplated what Fleur had said. "What sort of news?" she asked as a qualifier. "Because I cannot take much more bad news at this point."

Fleur laughed, "The good sort."

"That… that sounds alright."

"Then it is a plan." Fleur clapped her hands together and stepped towards the door, inclining her head and indicating that Hermione should dispel the wards so that they could both go downstairs and pretend to be nothing more than casual acquaintances once again. She was not looking forward to it, but the happiness that was sure to be written across Hermione's face when she heard the news was worth a few more hours of playacting.

x

That evening, Hermione told Mr. and Mrs. Weasley that she would be heading home to attempt to reconcile with her parents again. William (and Fleur by proxy – it would be quite pleasant to not be seen as a _unit_ with anyone other than Hermione when this was all done and over with) had offered to apparate over there with her and make sure that she arrived safely. Fleur waited for Hermione to go up with Ginny to get her things. She pulled on her cloak and waited, William talking quietly to his parents.

Soon though, Hermione came down, her bag slung over her shoulder and Fleur smiled brightly at her. They waved to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley and disapparated back to Shell Cottage, Fleur's fingers carefully interlacing with Hermione just as the spell was about to take effect. Hermione's hand was warm, and Fleur flushed at the idea of taking Hermione _home_. It was a strange feeling a new one. Away from the school, it felt so different, more grown-up somehow.

(What are you thinking, you're an adult.) The veela's violent thoughts cut though her happiness as the cottage swam into view, and Hermione squeezed her hand.

"Well, welcome." William said, leaning forward to place his hand firmly in the middle of the door, unlocking the wards and then pushing the key into the lock. He'd been living alone for so long now that Fleur was worried that the place had gone the way of the bachelor, but when the kitchen lacked dirty dishes in the sink and it smelled _clean, _Fleur breathed a little easier.

"Do you want some tea, 'ermione, William?" Fleur asked, taking the kettle and filling it up at the tap. It felt strange to be in her kitchen and for everything to be in different places. She would have to have a talk with William about moving things without telling her. Why was the tea over the stove? It didn't even make any _sense_ for it to be there. She took down the bag of loose tea and spooned it carefully into the tea ball, closing the metal casing and putting it into the kettle. A flick from her wand and the stove lit easily, and she set the kettle on the burner.

"I'd love some," Hermione said, shrugging off her coat.

"I haven't got any milk." William said sheepishly, looking up from the refrigerator. "Sorry."

Hermione shrugged, "It's no matter, I drink it black."

Fleur nodded, "I can just put more sugar in it, it will be fine."

William put his keys on the hook by the door and shoved his hands into his pockets, thoughtful. "Well, Hermione. We've got some news," at her expectant stare, he continued. "Fleur's grandmother called a solicitor for us."

Fleur almost sighed at how adorable Hermione looked when she was surprised, her eyebrows flew up and she leaned forward, attention rapt. "Oh?"

"Yes 'e's actually on my father's retainer." Fleur pointed out, feeling the need to clarify that this was not a crusade by her fully veela grandmere. "But that is beside the point. The point is that 'e drew these up for us." From the pocket of her robes, she pulled the packet of papers that they'd signed the night before, and handed them to Hermione, one eye still on the kettle.

Hermione took the papers and read the cover page quickly, flipping through them in quick succession. Fleur was sure that she could not have possibly managed to actually _absorb_ all the information that she was reading, but she knew better than to doubt Hermione's ability to comprehend what she was reading. "These are divorce papers!" Hermione exclaimed. She flipped through them one more time, confirming her next statement: "And you've signed them?"

William grinned at her, clapping her on the shoulder. "We're as good as separated in the eyes of the magic right now, but until we file them, we have to pretend to still be together – but I –_we -_ thought that you might appreciate this. As Christmas is soon and all."

"This is the… most wonderful gift I could ever be given," Hermione smiled, "Thank you, both of you."

"It is no trouble," Fleur said, leaning forward, kissing Hermione gently on the cheek. "I 'ad wanted to make it clear to you that this… it is serious."

Hermione's smile grew wider, "I knew that."

And then, as if on cue, the kettle whistled and William lunged forward to get it off the stove before the shrill sound could ruin their moment. They drank their tea in silence and soon William had gone to bed. Fleur took Hermione up to her room and stood by the door, just watching Hermione's closed-off expression.

There were no words spoken, Fleur let Hermione take what she needed and gave her far more than she ever asked for. She liked it when Hermione was assertive, when Fleur did not have to cave to the veela's instincts and be the aggressor. She was able, in those moments, to remain completely and totally herself in sex – an aspect of her person almost completely govern by the veela.

"I love you," Hermione said afterwards, her fingers combing through Fleur's hair, arranging it into half-braids and careful curls and designs on the pillow.

Fleur pulled her closer, pressing a kiss against the back of her neck. "I love you too."

x

They returned to the Burrow the following morning, and the day was spent preparing for the holiday that was fast approaching. Fleur was in the kitchen helping Mrs. Weasley and Andromeda Tonks with the dishes from the Christmas Eve meal when there was a sharp rap on the kitchen door, followed by two longer knocks. As the meeting was about to start, Fleur hurried over to unlatch the deadbolt and found herself facing a rather horrified-looking Draco Malfoy.

"Ah – Monsieur Draco, welcome." She said, a smile playing across her face. She turned to glance over her shoulder at Molly Weasley's far-off expression and allowed him entry. "They are gathering in the other room, if you go through that door there." She paused, glancing down at the bandages still covering parts of his hands. "'ow are your 'ands?"

"They've been better," he said tersely, nodding to Mrs. Weasley and smiling thinly at Andromeda, "Aunt Andromeda, it is nice to see you again."

She returned his smile with an equally closed-off one of her own, "To you as well, Draco. Is your mother well?"

Draco shrugged, "She is how she always has been. She would love to see you tomorrow for Christmas tea if you have time."

Fleur shook her head at the exchange and slid the lock back into place on the door before moving away from the quiet conversation between aunt and nephew to take the last of the clean dishes off of the dish drain and begin to towel them dry.

"Fleur you really don't have to do that," Mrs. Weasley protested as she carefully stacked the clean plates back into the cupboard.

"It is no problem, I just want to be of assistance if I can," Fleur said with a pleasant smile. After this was all said and done, Fleur desperately hoped that she would able to rebuild the relationship that she had once had with Molly Weasley – before she and William had decided upon this ruse. The first step had been taken, and once the law was changed, there was nothing holding her back.

"Mrs. Weasley," Draco's voice cut across the room before the older woman could respond to Fleur and Fleur took the opportunity to spirit the last of the dishes back to their homes in various cupboards and shelves.

"Yes?" she asked, her tone wary.

He stood in the middle of the kitchen, looking incredibly out of place, fiddling with a bandage on his hand. "I wanted to say that I know that there is bad blood between our families, and my presence here is as that of an ally. I want these people gone as much as the rest of them do. And-" He looked down for a minute, "I heard you killed my aunt, thank you."

Molly Weasley looked taken aback and Fleur saw that as her queue to leave the kitchen. Whatever conversation had to be had between Draco Malfoy and Molly Weasley was not one for her ears. Andromeda cast an appreciative look her was as Fleur slipped out of the door and into the sitting room. The room was crowded with people, pipe smoke hanging low in the air as the members of the Order of the Phoenix milled about, waiting for the meeting to begin.

Fleur cut across the room to where Hermione and Harry were deep in discussion of an article in the newspaper, Fleur had read it already – Rita Skeeter's latest. The quality of the woman's stories when she was not making things up about seventeen (and fourteen) year-old students participating in the Triwizard Tournament was markedly better.

"Draco Malfoy has arrived," she said in a low voice. She knew that the wounds between all of them had yet to fully heal. She could see how Harry's shoulders tensed and Hermione's calm face became a little bit more drawn and worried. "'e is talking to Madame Tonks in the kitchen."

Hermione nodded, "She's his aunt."

Fleur grinned, "I 'ad gathered. 'e invited her to tea like a gentleman, I was quite … 'ow do you say… I think the expression is 'taken aback?'"

Harry shook his head, "He can be a right git, but he's got a good head on his shoulders for this sort of thing."

(Ah yes, the born politician.)

_Or, as they do say, "a typical Slytherin." _Fleur thought.

From across the room, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister for Magic (who really, in Fleur's opinion should not have been attending these meetings), cleared his throat loudly. "I know that it is Christmas Eve and everyone wants to get home to their families – but as we have not had a full meeting in some time, we must all be brought up to speed." He glanced around, "is someone going to take minutes so that we can distribute them afterwards to those who could not make it?"

One of the aurors that Fleur recognized from the resistance raised a quill and parchment, "Minutes are a go," he said cheerfully, before adding, as if as an afterthought, "Minister."

Shacklebolt nodded, "I must give the floor to Bill Weasley, who has been doing us a great service."

William moved to stand in the middle of the room. Fleur could see the nervousness on his face as he took a deep breath and began to talk. "I volunteered myself to go undercover for this mission and I've learned the following about the people who are behind the murder of Albert Stinewell and the attacks on several students through their mail.

"Their organization is small, it is not nearly as expansive as the Death Eater organization was, and they do not have a large number of sympathizers who have not joined up but still support the cause. I've been introduced to a Mister Jones, a Mister White and a Mister Smith – as well as a Missus Park. These are all, _obviously_, aliases. I've managed to get photographs of most of them, however. Harry and Draco Malfoy – who I thought was here," William glanced around, only to see Draco leaning against the kitchen door, "Oh good, you are here. Anyway, he and Harry are going through old Hogwarts Yearbooks to see if they can't identify who they are based on school photographs since Draco's been in the hospital for the past few weeks. So far we've got no luck, but they're all older individuals, so there's a chance that we just haven't connected a face to a name as of yet."

William took a deep breath, "I know where their hideout is, but the apparition points around it are carefully warded so it would ne be next to impossible to send Aurors in at this point in time because the entire place is well patrolled. On top of that, there's the fact that it's in the heart of muggle London. We've got some people watching their comings and goings, but as all the evidence is circumstantial, until we manage to catch them in the act, we can't do much on that end." He shrugged, "And that's all I've got. They're not a large organization, and Mister Jones, we're pretty sure he's the leader, has a nasty scar on his face that looks like it could have come from a veela or maybe a banshee. We're guessing that revenge is their motivation – but honestly, they don't trust me enough to reveal something like that."

One of the witches in the back of the room that Fleur recognized as being a ministry employee (she could not remember the department for the life of her, however), raised her hand and at William's nod, asked: "Is there any reason why we can't just shut them down on suspicion and build the case based on evidence we find after the fact?"

"That is not how justice works, Miranda," although silent for all of William's speech, Kingsley Shacklebolt was able to instantly command the attention of the room with a word. Fleur was impressed. "We cannot act as they did during the war or else we are no better than them. Besides, the government is so precarious as it is now, that we must treat very carefully to not upset the balance of power."

"But what can we do about them then?"

Hermione stepped forward, "I think that I might have the solution to that." All the eyes in the room turned to her and Fleur felt herself swell with pride. Hermione was the mate that the veela had desired, but it was her person and her confidence that Fleur had fallen in love with. "Given how the _Prophet _has been over the past few years, I don't know how many of you still keep subscriptions. If you have, you probably know what I'm talking about. Since Draco's attack, we've been writing letters together while we work on a law written to render all of the prejudicial laws passed during Voldemort's government invalid. It's going to be an all-encompassing nondiscriminatory act that covers both magical creatures, hybrid beings, muggle born individuals and several other sub-species that have been referred to us by various sources."

"Will it pass?" Someone across the room asked.

"I forsee no problems, as it solves far more problems than it creates," It was now Draco's turn to speak, and he spoke quickly and evenly. Fleur watched him as he spoke, so different from how he had spoken to Molly Weasley. Here was his stage, it seemed, surrounded by people who doubted him, those that he had to charm and prove his worth to.

He was going to make a great politician someday.

Soon after they distributed the copies of the law that Hermione and Draco had been working on, the meeting disbanded with a promise to meet up in a few days' time (and preferably not in the middle of the Weasley's living room – Harry offered the Black House) to discuss strategy and any revisions to the law. Fleur folded her copy and tucked it into the pocket of her muggle jeans and watched as people slowly slipped from the room in twos or threes.

She was surprised to see Hermione gathering up her winter jacket and two carefully wrapped Christmas presents. "Are you going 'ome?" She asked.

"I should try one last time," Hermione said sadly, pulling a knit cap down over her head and straightening it. It barely contained her hair and made her look like one of those blue creatures that Fleur remembered some of her muggle-born friends in primary school watching on occasion. "If not, I can just leave their Christmas presents and come back here."

Fleur pursed her lips, but said nothing. She knew enough about estranged families to know that it did not work quite like that, but it was Hermione's story and she had to discover such things on her own. It was not Fleur's place to judge her actions, considering there was so many ways she could have traveled home for the holidays, muggle or wizarding, without the Ministry catching her. She did what she had to, because she was not ready to face them – not until this was completely fixed.

"Well, _bonne chance._" Fleur said, reaching out and touching Hermione's cheek before lowering her hand self-consciously and squeezing Hermione's shoulder instead. She longed to reach out and kiss her goodbye, or even to go with her – but it was not the time.

(You could go anyway.)

Fleur shook her head slightly, the veela had a point, but Fleur was not going to rock the boat this close to Christmas. "Be safe."

Hermione smiled, tucking her cargo under her arm. "Happy Christmas Fleur."

"Joyeaux Noël," Fleur smiled, concentrating hard on her pronunciation. "Hermione."


	24. Act Three, Scene Change Two, Interlude

**Golden Haze, Act Three, Interlude Two**

AN: Now this update was planned. MUHAHAHAHAHA. I like to keep track of my hits on chapters and hilariously, ever since I put up Act Two, the site's hit tracking system has been down. Welp, guess I can't now.

This chapter is intentionally short. Setting the scene for the finale.

Music of the Story: Yaz – Mr Blue

* * *

The darkness of her backyard swam into view as Hermione apparated into the area behind her mother's garden shed. She had nearly landed in the wheelbarrow (again) and carefully sidestepped around it as she gathered her wits about her. They were like a protection spell against what she was sure was coming. In all honestly, it was only stubbornness that brought her back to this place. She and Fleur had talked about her returning here on Christmas Eve to deliver the gifts that she had chosen for her parents and simply leaving them under the tree.

To Hermione, it seemed better than an inevitable confrontation.

The air was cold around her and she hugged her coat more tightly around her. It was overcast and there was no moon. The only light came from the motion-activated light that her neighbor had rigged up to deter burglars many years ago (much to her parent's chagrin). Hermione picked her way across the yard, wrinkling her nose as her toes sunk into the soggy grass in places.

It was so quiet, but the hour was not late. The silence made her nervous and she flexed her wrist reflexively, checking on the release point of her wand holster.

Drawing up to the kitchen door, Hermione rested her palm on it, cautious and feeling for the remnants of the wards that she had erected before she left. She wanted to know if anyone had magically forced their way into her parents' home. The threat of Voldemort was gone, but Hermione did not trust easily now. She wanted her parents to be safe and this was the best way. Carefully spelled-out wards and magical alerts if anything were to attempt to force its way inside had become something of a specialty of Hermione's during the war; she was glad that they could still be useful.

The door was cool against her fingers, and nothing had been disturbed and no one had forced entry. She exhaled softly and whispered the words to unlock the spells, and then bent and pulled the key out of the flower pot where her mother kept it. It clicked and the door swung open, Hermione slipping inside silently.

The house was quiet and dark, save for the Christmas tree's twinkling lights in the living room, visible through the open doorway across the room.

Everything looked so _normal_, here. Clean dishes lay in the dish drain, waiting to be put away in the morning, the coffee maker's timer was set, and her mother had set out what looked like waffle-batter to rise over night on the counter. Hermione felt a pang of homesickness so acute that she felt compelled to sit down and fall once again into the despair that the feeling of her mother and father telling her to leave had sent her into.

They had wanted more time to adjust to everything that she had had to say to them. She understood it on an intellectual level, but she wished that there was a way that she could find herself emotionally sound with her parents' decision. It hurt far more than the act of leaving them with no memories had done.

_No,_ she shook her head. She knew what she had done was wrong. She had to deal with the consequences – it was now or never.

Forgiveness, she hoped, would come in time. Her parents understood of the differences between the wizarding and magical world, even if they did not fully comprehend them. She was a creature of two worlds now, and no matter how much Hermione felt at home in this house, it was not her place any more. She belonged elsewhere, doing things that did not involve things that her parents considered normal. She would never go to university, never take a job in the muggle world; she would grow old and live her life in a world so alien to them that they could hardly relate to it.

She crossed the kitchen in a few short steps and paused to glance up the stairs. The bathroom night-light was still on, a remnant from her childhood fear of the dark, but it was silent upstairs as well. Her parents had gone to bed, she would not see them.

It was for the best.

A few presents dotted the underside of the Christmas tree, and Hermione stooped to tuck the ones that she had brought under the tree as well, before turning to place the letter that she had written, apologizing once again and leaving contact information for when they were ready, on the coffee table.

"Ah, Ms. Granger, we've been waiting for you."

The letter fell forgotten to the floor. Her wand was in her hand in a second, illuminated and held at the ready. There was a man sitting on her mother's sofa. He was squinting in the suddenly light of her wand, but she could see one carefully extended between his long-nailed fingers – a counter, in prefect form.

_A duelist?_ Hermione's mind was racing.

"Who are you?" She demanded, carefully taking in the man's leather jacket and the long scars running down his cheek. As soon as the words left her mouth, she recognized the scars from the pictures that Bill Weasley had sent Harry and McGonagall. _Jones,_ she thought murderously. This was the man who had attacked Draco, who had killed that part-Banshee singer, her eyes narrowed, trying to think of the course of action.

He laughed, the sound warm and welcoming, not at all what Hermione was used to in a villain. High-pitched and cold sounding laughter echoed through her ears then, joined with a cackle of a woman she _knew_ was dead. Why was she thinking of _that_ time at a time like this, she couldn't lose focus, she was going to mess up and potentially get herself killed. "Come now, I believe you are very much aware of who I am, smart girl that you are."

Not lowering her wand, Hermione nodded slowly, "You're Jones." She could not get the memory of what had happened at Malfoy Manor out of her head. The pain of Bellatrix's knife was harsh and acute, the wound had long-since healed. Why was she reliving the moment now? She shook her head violently, concentrating on the scars on the man's face. "Why are you here?" she demanded, desperate for more time to collect herself and strategize. She couldn't use magic here, she'd destroy her childhood home and her parents would never forgive her, even if it was to save their lives.

"I am here to collect an asset," Jones said, his hands on his knees as he eased himself to his feet. Harsh black eyes flashed as he drew his wand back, pointing it upwards in the general direction of where her parents now slept. "You will come with me if you do not want your precious parents on the other end of one of my _very_ strong – if I do say so myself – blasting curses."

Hermione gripped her wand, wondering if her shield spells were faster than his blasting curses. She doubted that she would be able to do much before one of the spells hit the foundation or the walls and actually did potentially hurt her parents. It seemed that she had no choice.

"If I come," she asked, her voice hard. It was her duty to protect her parents from the evils of the world she was now a part of. "You will spare them?"

Jones nodded, "I am a man of my word."

Hermione closed her eyes, concentrating very hard on Fleur, on the wonderful memory of how her face had lit up in that record shop. She had one chance to get this right, and her message was clear in her mind. _Captured, help, Jones. _

She lowered her wand, pointing it at an angle towards the floor behind her, "Then I surrender, for the time being."

He looked relieved, and raised his wand in a conjurer's stance. _For rope_, Hermione thought, letting the spell she'd been preparing go, pushing as much magical energy into it as she could – it had a long way to go to get to Shell Cottage. "_Expecto Patronum," _she said, just as Jones changed his stance to the aggressive and hit her squarely in the chest with a stunning spell.

As her consciousness faded, Hermione watched the slivery otter bound through the wall and off in the direction of help. Jones was standing over her, and she saw no more.


	25. Act Three, Scene Three

**Golden Haze, Act Three, Scene Three**

**AN: **THIS IS NOT AS LONG AS I WANTED IT TO BE.

My mom is coming into town tomorrow and I desperately wanted to get something up and written before she rolled up and effectively took away my ability to write.

I'm sorry that this isn't getting updated as fast as it could be. I do try, but I'm under a ton of stress right now because of some financial stuff and until I sort out my finances, get EBT, potentially find a second job, I'm just going to be a giant stress case about money and that is not really conducive to my writing. I'm so sorry guys. L

Also: to the person who said that Bill was the traitor? What made you think that? Obviously there's more to this than meets the eye (hehehe) but I have never had him pegged as anything other than a good guy.

Music of the Story: The Ready Set + Metromony

* * *

Fleur Delacour had never seen Hermione Granger's patronus. They had had a passing conversation about their respective anti-dementor animals during class one day, when Fleur had introduced the concept of totem animals and what each animal might mean about the person who was casting such a spell. Hermione's was a river otter she had said in class that day, where Fleur's was a pearl kite. Both were representative of different aspects of themselves – which was the entire point of Fleur's lesson. Fleur had decided that it was not worth potentially embarrassing some of her students who could not perform such a complicated spell to ask for a demonstration from her students, and because of that, she had never gotten a chance to see what the river otter that Hermione had mentioned looked like.

As she saw Hermione's patronus now, bounding through the cornfields just outside of the Burrow, she felt her breath catch in her throat. The being was beautiful, so completely encased in Hermione's magic. Maybe it would come bearing news that Hermione's parents had seen reason and had kept her there for Christmas morning. Fleur had assumed Hermione had floo'ed back to the Weasleys when she did not arrive at Shell Cottage the night before. It had seemed so easy to believe then, but as their arrival had been greeted with questions of Hermione's whereabouts from the rest of the Weasleys and Harry, Fleur had found herself starting to grow worried.

To see Hermione's patronus now, a warning on its lips encased in Hermione's beautiful magic, however, brought a chill down her spine and a panicked feeling to her stomach.

The otter-shaped patronus approached and Fleur watched with wide eyes as Hermione's desperate and scared voice emerged from the otter's mouth. White knuckled hands rested at her sides, at rest until they could spring into motion, to maim, to kill any who dared threaten her mate.

Hermione had been captured by the very man they were trying to apprehend it seemed. He had been waiting for her somewhere, but Hermione, smart as she was, had been able to get a call for help out. Fleur felt pride in her mate swell within her.

She urged the otter to travel inside, to tell Harry Potter and Ronald and the others. She was not the only one who cared for Hermione, but she was going to be the one who rescued her lover.

(You should let me…) The veela, never far from her consciousness, whispered. Fleur had known it was coming, knew that she would be powerless to not accept the help, so freely offered. She was already thinking like the damn creature anyway, she might as well fully embrace it.

_I was just going to ask_. Fleur thought, her eyes closing. She knew that she should go back inside and tell the others where she was going, that she was off to do something stupid and potentially hazardous to her life – but there was a whispering voice in her mind that held her back. She was not ready to face such a confrontation with the Weasleys. For all they knew, she and Hermione still had that same relationship that they had had during Hermione's fourth year in school – when they all had far more pressing matters on their mind to worry about.

"Fleur," Harry Potter's voice came from just inside the doorway. Fleur could feel her fingernails cutting into palm, her hands were shaking. A wetness formed beneath them and Fleur bit her tongue. She had to stop doing that, letting the veela's powers manifest through clenched fists.

She turned to stare at the bespectacled boy with a weak (fake – you could do better) smile. It was the best she could muster. Her words took a moment to find their place in her mouth, carefully "Would you like to come along? I am going to fetch Draco Malfoy and then I am going to get Hermione." She didn't know why she asked him, she would rather act alone. She couldn't stand the idea of another rescuing Hermione – even though the rational and non-veela part of her brain knew that it was a far better idea to have back up.

Her voice felt strange in her ears, but Harry nodded slowly, offering his hand to Fleur and pulling her back into the house. Wordlessly, he pulled on his jacket and disappeared off into the well-lit kitchen for a moment before reappearing with a strip of gauze and a very worried-looking William. "For your hand," Harry said, passing her the gauze and indicating her hand with his head. She hadn't realized it was bleeding quite so much.

The veela sneered within her mind as she moved, carefully bandaging the wound and pulling on her cloak. She felt strange, standing next to Harry Potter, dressed in muggle attire while she was wearing more conventional wizarding clothing. Fleur was used to being the outspoken, occasional wearer of casual muggle garments, not the other way around. She supposed that in time she would figure out how to blend in better with muggles, but now was not that time.

"Don't do anything rash." William's hand rested on her shoulder for a few long moments before he let it go. Fleur knew better than to shy away from him when he was trying to be encouraging and cautioning at the same time. It was not really her thing to listen to William as it was – given that they had very different views and outlooks on life, but she did value his opinions.

Still, Fleur could not help the sneer that grew across her face as William mentioned caution. He did not understand. No one would understand, save those who shared the blood. That was why she needed Draco Malfoy.

Fleur tried to relax her angry expression, and succeeded only in softening it slightly. She would have to work on her play acting. It was not nearly as good as she wanted it to be. "Since when 'ave I ever listened to you?" she asked, finally able to smile sadly at William when he met her gaze with a knowing smile of his own.

William gave an elaborate shrug as if to point out to Fleur that was no reasoning with her. "At least I know you're stubborn enough to pull off a rescue mission on your own."

Fleur scoffed. "I would not let anyone else do it."

Harry zipped up his coat and shoved his hands into his pockets, staring from William to Fleur and back again. His expression was carefully neutral, but Fleur could see the confusion at the corners of his eyes. He was too young to really understand such conversations, with their many layers and double meanings. "Why do you want to get Draco?" His question was valid, Fleur supposed. It highlighted just how _little_ the savior of the wizarding world really knew about her kind.

Fleur sighed. This was a part of herself that she did not like explaining to others. She did not want to be seen as a specimen, but rather as a person and explaining it always seemed to dehumanize her in some way. She did not want to seem as though her need to run off without a plan to rescue Hermione was anything other than a human impulse. The veela was cunning, but when its mate was involved it was the most irrational of all beings. She could not resist the pull of that irrationality, and she felt terrified that she would not do enough to save Hermione and that it would somehow displease her mate. _That, _at least, was a purely veela worry.

She chose her words carefully, considering how best to make her point without revealing too much about herself in one breath. "'e knows 'ow to control the impulses. I am not entirely 'uman." She winced. It always hurt to say it, even if it was true. "I want 'im there as a precaution."

It was strange, she mused as she watched Harry digest the information she'd given her. The one thing that she hated the most about herself was the one thing that had brought her the most happiness. Hermione had become her world since Halloween, and Fleur had not realized just how vital their bond was to her sanity and feelings of self-worth until she was gone completely.

Harry bit his lip. "Couldn't you just… teach me the signs?"

Fleur laughed, the sound harsh and humorless. It was a biting sound, full of fear rather than actual amusement. "It would not work, you are not completely immune."

Harry flushed. "I do try."

She shrugged her shoulders at him; there was really little else that she could do. He was obviously enamored with Ginny, but he was also a man and he could not help looking. Better than most, but not completely immune. She reached out, bandaged hand open as she watched William move to go back into the kitchen and the rest of the Weasley family. "What is Ronald going to do?" She watched with narrowed eyes as William glanced towards the door.

"He had a hunch and wanted to look into it here." Harry supplied.

Fleur nodded. "I know that it is not best that I am going off to rescue 'ermione, but I cannot _not_ act. I must do something." She exhaled, eyes shining, close to tears. Her emotions were tinged with desperation and terror. Hermione was gone, she had to rescue her. "William, will you look for information on your end, and give your mother my regrets?"

William rubbed the back of his neck, not meeting her eyes. "She'll be upset."

Fleur crossed her hands angrily across her chest. Christmas was not the same without everyone together, it would not be worth having. Mrs. Weasley would understand, when she finally knew. While her English was not so good that she could regularly employ sarcasm, she found herself speaking it effortlessly. "Say we are getting a divorce, it will be the best present she 'as ever gotten."

William balked and Harry looked from him to Fleur and back again in quick succession, confusion clearly written across his face. "You know I can't."

"We already are." Fleur raised her eyebrows to make her point.

William shrugged, "Don't push it, Fleur." He turned to leave and asked over his shoulder. "I'll see you tonight?"

Fleur looked down at her bandaged hand. "Perhaps. I intend to get her back and quickly." She looked up, her eyes resolute and her jaw set. "'arry will be of assistance, and Draco as well."

William nodded and waved them off. Fleur turned and pulled open the front door and stepped out into the biting cold. She shivered and hastily cast a warming spell around herself as Harry pulled the door closed behind him. He had pulled a knit cap on over his head which succeeded in making him look as adorable as an eighteen year old could. He scowled as she stood in the yard, staring off into the distance. "You realize I don't get on with him right?"

Fleur shrugged. "You are getting better," she said, stepping forward, magical energy gathering around her as she prepared to apparate. "Come."

Harry grumbled, but followed her example and the two of them vanished into nothingness and the crisp winter morning.

It was strange, going to a place that Fleur had nothing but bad memories to associate with to seek out someone good. She was not sure how she was going to react, faced with the memories of how Hermione had been hurt during the war in this place. As the austere white walls swam into vision before her, Fleur felt her fists clench once again.

She could never forgive what had happened to Hermione during the war. She had done everything she could for Hermione then, but she saw how the nightmares still plagued the girl she loved so much. She was grateful that Bellatrix LeStrange had perished during the war, as she did not think she would be able to stomach the idea that such a being who had hurt Hermione so deeply still walked this earth.

(This place still stands, a true veela would raise it.) The veela's voice purred in her mind. Fleur pushed away the thoughts and tried to be as resolute as possible. She was not going to let this get to her. She had to get Draco Malfoy and then leave this place, hopefully to never return again.

Harry's face was drawn into a tight and closed-off expression as they walked up the graveled drive to a pair of ornate-looking black gates. Fleur paused, as was custom at the edge of a strong set of warding spells, and waiting, shivering in the cold, for the gate attendant to bare them entry.

"I've never come here invited," Harry intoned quietly, his hands still shoved deep into his pockets. He glanced around, his breath forming fog in the air around his mouth. "This place is horrible."

Fleur nodded, holding her tongue. She did not trust herself to comment.

After another long and drawn-out moment of waiting, a house elf wearing a pillowcase and an apron appeared before them on the other side of the gate. Fleur smiled brightly at it, knowing that it would see right through her human blood straight to the veela. That was the charm of house elves; they were fantastic natural defense mechanisms against unwanted intruders, because their abilities and unique magic made them particularly sensitive to those of mixed and magical creature heritage.

She spoke clearly and evenly when the young elf acknowledged her. Politeness got you a lot farther in polite wizarding society than rudeness did and Fleur was nothing if not a charmer herself. Still, as she spoke, she felt fake. This was just another mask she donned, another face that was so unlike who she really was. "I would like to speak to the lord of the 'ouse."

The elf looked uncomfortable. "He is not being here," The elf had a high and reedy voice, but obviously understood Fleur's intent. "But Master Draco is."

Fleur smiled politely, inclining her head in the affirmative. Some language was universal. "That is to whom I was referring, young elf."

"I was meaning no offense, beautiful one." The elf looked a little chest-fallen, but nodded once more. "I will get him."

"Merci," Fleur said, and the elf vanished. "I feel terribly rude, intruding on Christmas," she admitted quietly.

Harry shrugged, "The circumstances are such that I think it's fine."

Fleur nodded, "This is true, but I shall 'ave to find some way to make it up to Madame Malfoy for taking her son away from her on such a day."

He looked down at his shoes, looking uncomfortable. He had opened his mouth to say something when the voice of Draco Malfoy rang clear across the courtyard on the other side of the gate. He emerged from the large and ornate-looking doorway while still in the process of fastening his cloak, the elf following after him protesting loudly that he needed a hat and at least an under jacket. "What are you doing here?" Draco demanded, waving the elf off and drawing level with them.

It was strange, to see him in a context outside of school or trying to have a low-profile. There was nothing about him now that indicated that he was at all uncomfortable with his own identity. He looked every bit the rich boy that they all knew him to be. Fleur threw away what little pride she had left and began to speak. "I need your 'elp. 'ermione 'as been taken by Jones and 'is cohorts. She was taken by force and there is a good chance they will 'urt 'er."

Draco's cloak fell open and it was suddenly very apparent why the elf had suggested that he be wearing an undercoat – as his thin linen shirt was now the only thing that guarded him from the elements. He looked genuinely surprised and that was also reflected in his tone when he spoke. "What? How the bloody-"

Fleur hung her head, shame burning across her cheeks. She should have known, she should have been able to prevent this from happening. Why, why in Merlin's name, didn't she go with Hermione last night? They were going to meet up afterwards at Shell Cottage anyway. She'd assumed so much when Hermione did not return last night.

She was the fool.

"I do not know either," Fleur said quietly.

Harry placed a reassuring hand on her back and she turned and gave him a weak smile. He spoke quietly, more to her than to Draco. "But we're going to get her back."

Draco nodded curtly, stepping through the gates as though they were not there. He pulled out his wand and muttered, "_Accio sweater." _As he waited for the summoning charm to deliver his sweater, Draco frowned. "Seems odd that you should be leading the rescue mission, Delacour," His tone was mild and not at all accusing, unlike how it had been in their previous encounters when they had discussed Hermione. Fleur noticed it, and her eyes narrowed at his next question: "Why do you even need me?"

She felt threatened, predatory and as the summoning spell delivered Dracos sweater, she raised her eyebrows at him and threw caution into the wind. He would not tell her secret, she would make sure of that if it proved to be an issue. "'ave you not figured it out yet?" She faltered, her throat suddenly feeling as though it had a large lump in it. She held up her hand, fingers lengthening as if on cue. As her fingers folded neatly together into the wicked-looking claws of her veela heritage, Fleur found her voice once again. "I have to save 'er. She is mine."

Draco refastened his cloak, looking a lot warmer now. He turned his steely eyes towards Harry and demanded. "Potter did you know?"

"Of course." Had the situation been any less dire, Fleur would have rolled her eyes.

"Figures," Draco muttered, turning back to Fleur. "Well, why do you need me then? You're the one who decided to bond with someone _while you were married._"

With his tone came all the scorn and indignation of an entire country of wizards who had no idea what it was like to be as much of a veela as she was, to feel the impulses and the need to do something, anything, to make the aching want of the mate vanish. She sighed quietly, not looking at any one thing in particular and found herself quietly recounting the tale of why, exactly, it was that she had married William Weasley.

Draco listened quietly, asking questions when it seemed prudent, but generally keeping his comments to himself. Fleur was grateful that he was not being an arse about it, but knew that that could change at any moment. She just hoped that when he fully understood, he would find cause to at least be supportive of the idea.

"You need be because I know how to control veela?" Draco's eyebrows rose up his forehead as he spoke, "I don't know who told you that, but I don't know the first thing-"

Fleur shook her head violently. "I do not care that you do not know, all I need is a person who is immune to it. The thrall or whatever the researchers are calling veela allure nowadays." She exhaled, "As you are male, and at least a fraction veela, you will do."

He looked almost out, but Fleur did not give him a chance to speak again. She could feel something coming from the bond that she and Hermione shared. Stretched as it now over many miles and countless wards, Fleur could still feel her terror and desperation. She had to save her, Hermione did not deserve to go through such an ordeal again.

All of a sudden a building swam before her mind's eye, blinking in and out of existence. She recognized it, a large brick building in London and not that far away from the Ministry's employee entrance. _Hermione?_ She thought, shaking her head to clear her vision.

(Clever girl.)

"Come, we must leave this place, I 'ave an idea where she is." Fleur stepped forward, snow crunching quietly under her shoes as she turned to head away from the gates and to the edge of the anti-apparation field.

From behind her, she could hear Draco still trying to process the information she had just revealed to him. His tone was not at all judgmental, more disbelieving. "No, seriously, Granger's a lesbian?"

Harry sighed loudly and dramatically. "Why does that bother you so much, Malfoy?" He asked, "You're not exactly straight and an arrow yourself."

Draco's voice became quiet. "No one needs to know that."

"You hardly hide it." Harry laughed. There was a sound like a hand hitting several layers of clothing and Fleur turned around to see Harry clap Draco on the back in what could have been construed as a friendly and casual gesture, had they not been bitter rivals and former enemies.

Not it was just… _weird._

"Still, I had _no_ idea." Draco intoned.

Harry nodded, "I don't think anyone did." After a moment's long silence, he added, "Please keep it to yourself."

Fleur smiled, staring up at the noontime sun. "We are going to all go together," she said when they reached the edge of the anti-apparation wards.

"Do you know where to go?" Harry demanded.

Fleur smiled privately, unwilling to reveal the last detail of her relationship with Hermione at this point in time. The bonding could wait until after everything was completely sorted out. It was not worth stirring anything up that did not need to be brought to the surface just yet. "I have an idea," she said, holding out her hand.

They both reached forward and Fleur allowed her magic to pull her away on the breath of the wind, taking her towards the place she had seen in her mind.


	26. Act Three, Scene Four

**Golden Haze, Act Three, Scene Four**

AN: Well, I guess I learned my lesson about updating over Easter. Never again. But come on you guys, over a thousand hits and ten reviews? Even with the holiday, I thought that that chapter in particular would have garnered better results.

This scene is out of place in the next chapter, so I cut it out and had it stand alone - as the next chapter is more looking for Hermione - and this is a moment of downtime and very terse conversations.

Music of the story – Cake – Short Skirt, Long Jacket

* * *

It was strange when they returned that night, Harry silently retreating up the stairs after a hard look from Ginny, Draco leaving them at the doorstep with a promise to come first thing in the morning. Fleur was grateful for the support, but as William stood framed in the bright light of the kitchen door, she knew that the moment had finally come. There was no way she could avoid the confrontation, the judgment, or the fact that she had no idea what to say. Somehow, 'I never loved your son,' did not sound like a good way to begin the conversation.

Her steps were uneasy, one, two, and then a third. They sounded like explosions in the quiet of the Weasley's foyer. Fleur swallowed, and came to stand before William, knowing full-well what was about to come.

"Est il…" she began, French flowing more cleanly from her lips at this moment, another sign she did not belong.

Hermione was gone, captured by a man who had laid a second trail so carefully that they'd wasted an entire day following it. Fleur had no place here, with these people who loved and cared for Hermione like she did. Not until she could find her lover and bring her back to all these smiling faces would she belong.

She wanted to turn and leave.

William nodded gravely and Fleur felt her control begin to slip. Golden hues swam at the corners of her vision and she felt dread take deep hold in her stomach.

(Best the get it over with,) the veela breathed inside her, but Fleur could feel its fear as well. They were in unchartered waters, and the feeling was so akin to what she had felt when she first told her parents that she was going to marry William despite the fact that she did not love him.

Back then, they had told her to just leave. That no misguided sense of justice was worth being subject to Voldemort's reign of terror or the oppressive laws that the British ministry was forcing upon its citizens. She had felt that same sense of dread and hesitancy. She did not want to be the bearer of bad news, she did not want to become hated in her lone safe-haven.

The golden haze on her vision spread like wildfire and Fleur tried to will herself to calm down. She inhaled slowly, and looked up at William with a small, closed-off smile. "We should go in then, non?"

He looked taken aback, but nodded his agreement and followed Fleur into the kitchen.

Molly and Arthur Weasley were sitting at one end of the table, cold, forgotten mugs of tea on the table before them. Fleur swallowed, the lump in her throat only seemed to grow bigger.

How could she trust her English in a time like this? She didn't even know where to begin. "I believe that I owe you an apology," she said at length, taking a seat opposite Molly Weasley and folding her hands neatly in front of her. "I 'ave misled you."

"That is putting it mildly," Molly Weasley said shortly. Fleur flinched, but she knew that it was something that she did deserve.

"I was not 'onest with my intentions and for that I am truly sorry. I wish that I could 'ave never done what I did during the war, but at the time it seemed like the only choice." Fleur looked down at her hands, nails chipped (again) and shaking. "I am not sorry for how I did it." Her hand clenched into tight fists. The bandage on her palm giving her pause before she once again clenched too tightly and hurt herself, Fleur relaxed her grip.

"Why ever not? You deliberately misled this entire family – did Bill never mean anything to you?" Molly's eyes flashed dangerously and Fleur wondered if she had overstepped her bounds in her honesty.

"_William, _is my best friend," Fleur said shortly. "At the time when we made this decision, both of us were in far more denial about," she glanced over at William, wondering how much she could get away with saying. He didn't look at her, instead concentrating on picking at a deep scratch in the table with his fingernail. "_certain aspects_ of our person. I am sure that it did not go unnoticed to you how many members of my family were notably absent from the wedding. They did not believe that I could dishonor myself in such a way."

Arthur Weasley, always quiet and a foil to his more expressive wife, slammed his mug down on the table. "You dishonored this family."

"Da-" William began, and Fleur glanced over at him, afraid to look at either of her former parents-in-law. "To dishonor a veela family is not marry one's mate. _That's _what they were objecting to. It has nothing to do with us."

"He isn't your mate then?" Arthur glanced from William to Fleur and back again. Fleur felt her cheeks color but she bit the inside of her cheek to keep from saying anything. It was not their business, it was no one's business but her own. "Who is?"

Fleur looked down at the table for a long time, wondering if she could actually come clean about this. So much had changed since the war had begun and she was a completely different person. "I knew before, we had met when I was seventeen." Her voice shook, but she kept talking. "That year was very 'ard on me. I dishonored my school by doing poorly in the Triwizard Tournament and I shamed my family by not seeking out my mate as soon I became aware of the bond. I was afraid. Always, always, I 'ated the way that my grandmere's blood changed me; that year I shifted for the first time and I vowed that I would never do it again." She found herself laughing. "I could not stay away, it seemed. After my mastery was finished, I came back here to fight. But also for another reason that I am only now becoming aware of: 'ermione."

The room was silent, Fleur hoped that they were just dumbfounded. She had said a lot, perhaps even too much. Fleur watched with wary eyes as her chest rose and fell, calming down from the extreme push of emotions she had just expelled. The truth is almost always worse, the saying said, and she was so sure that she would be run out of the house now.

"Is that why you went off?" Molly asked, and Fleur looked up, meeting her eyes evenly. "Today, I mean."

"Yes." Fleur said tonelessly. "The veela does not take kindly to having its mate kidnapped."

William sighed, "Mum, Da – you know that Fleur is not the only guilty party when it comes to this."

They both looked at him and Fleur mentally groaned, she had not been mentally prepared to go through the entirety of their lies today. She had been so much already. Couldn't this wait?

"I am not attracted to women." William said quite forcefully. "I told you this when I was seventeen and I'm telling you this again now. I can't follow the old ways and give you a blood heir in the traditional way."

"I 'ad offered, should 'ermione be willing…" Fleur clapped her hand over her mouth, suddenly fearful. She could not make this promise; she should not even mention it.

Molly Weasley smiled at her, "That would be wonderful if you were able to, dear."

Fleur swallowed, fear gripping her stomach once more. "I 'ope that you 'ave not misunderstood me. I 'ave yet to even speak to 'ermione about this – I do not 'ave the place to offer such a thing." She looked away, "The veela in me would not allow it."

"Do you love her?" Arthur asked.

"J-I- Of course I do." Fleur stuttered, English switching to French and then hastily back again. How could she trust her English in a time like this?

"It's not exactly a traditional love, Fleur," Molly said, not unkindly. "Have you explained to her what it would mean in the eyes of wizarding society?"

"That is why she is trying to change the law." Fleur shrugged, she did not understand where Hermione pulled her motivation from, but she did love how the younger woman was so passionate about changing perceived injustices that she saw in the world. "That is why 'er parents asked 'er to leave."

Molly's face pulled downwards. "I do not approve of this – not when Hermione is so young. She does not know what's she committing to – or what she's doing with a married woman."

William began to speak then, explaining how they had nullified the marriage contract in hasty words and how when the laws were appealed they would file it officially. Fleur was grateful that he had taken over the talking, she could not stand the idea of having to dignify Molly's comment with a response.

The conversation was far from over, but it did not seem as though she would be thrown out. At the moment, it was all that Fleur could hope for. She had more to think about. She had to get Hermione back.


	27. Act Three, Scene Change Three, Interlude

**Golden Haze, Act Three, Interlude Three  
**

AN: HAHA another unplanned chapter... go me. *dies*

A few people have commented that Fleur's outing of Hermione was inappropriate and certainly not her place. As someone who understands this very situation intimately, I know and understand that it was very inappropriate. I have been involuntarily outed and the experience is _violating._ My, and Fleur's, only excuse is that she's part magical creature under extreme mental duress and she misspoke. This will have repercussions, don't worry folks.

OUTING SOMEONE IS NEVER OKAY.

Music of the story – Cyndi Lauper - Time After Time

* * *

The galleon was in Hermione's pocket, warm and pulsating as though it was still their fifth year and simply the announcement of another meeting of the DA. The situation as more desperate now, and her breath was short and shallow as she moved her hands slowly to her pockets. In between her fingers, the galleon cooled, and the message would soon become visible. She'd only ever spelled the numbers to change, but Harry knew the spell well. Was this a message? The promise of rescue on her mind, she glanced nervously around the room that they'd shoved her in. It was heavily warded, but there was a window in the corner. The light was still good; she could probably read the message quickly without them noticing her moving about.

She moved slowly, silently, toward the window, and pulled the galleon out of her pocket. Around the edge, in neat lettering, words had appeared where there had once been ancient runes declaring it to be currency by international standard.

_F looking for. M&A know, regrets. Stay safe. Expect rescue tmrw nite.  
_

Hermione swallowed. Harry had done the spell, his abbreviations were obviously recognizable as he used muggle ones rather than the wizarding standard. "They know…" she breathed, head hunched against the wall. "They know…"

Why had Fleur told them? It was not her right to say something like that. The right was Hermione's and Hermione's alone. For Fleur to have said something… the situation must have been dire.

To say something like that, without provocation was a breach of trust in the most extreme way. Fleur could not have known that Hermione was still not entirely comfortable with the way that the wizarding world saw homosexuality – and Hermione had never voiced her fears about it. All she had said was that she was grateful for the fact that there was not the same level of intolerance as there was in the muggle world. She had never said that it was strange for her to see people be so honest and out with regards to their sexualities, as though it legitimately did not matter.

It didn't matter, not to her, but adjusting to the wizarding world had already been hard and Fleur had just, inevitably, made it harder.

What could have possibly happened? Hermione groaned thinking of the possibilities. She had to get out of here.

Thoughts of escape filled her mind, but just as soon as they began to form, they vanished once again. Every time she closed her eyes, she could see Bellatrix LeStrange's cruel face, laughing at her as her knife moved and sliced through Hermione's traitorous skin. She knew it was coming, she had braced herself for it as soon as they'd shoved her in the room – Bellatrix would come. Her maddening laughter and deranged sing-song voice would come and Hermione would feel that pain again.

There was a nagging thought in the back of her head that this time Harry and Ron would not come to rescue her. Fleur would not let them. The veela were a proud people and Fleur could not stand the shame of not being the one to save Hermione. She wanted Fleur to be the one to save her.

Would her lover even have the control to do it?

She would have to hurry, tears fell down Hermione's cheeks. Fleur would have to come soon. The memories were scars on her consciousness. She couldn't close her eyes, she couldn't sleep, she couldn't think of a plan to herself out of this situation. Bellatrix would sing to her, laugh at her, touch her every time her eyes threatened to close.

_I'm going to go insane._ She didn't date try to use wandless magic (her control was not very good and she'd neglected practicing it this year at school) to send a message back to Harry. _Rescue me, save me before I completely regress back into what I was when you and Ron and Draco saved me._

How had Mr. and Mrs. Weasley found out? Had Fleur lost control? Hermione hoped not. There wasn't much that could stop an enraged veela who had fully embraced the haze if her book was to be believed. She did not want to think about the creature that lived within Fleur, the one that would kill indiscriminately – like Bellatrix – for her.

She let out a quiet moan. She wondered if she raised enough of a ruckus Smith or Jones would come in and tell her to shut up or spell her into sleep. They were the only two that she'd seen. She was sure that she was somewhere in London. The floor had vibrated with trains at several intervals that suggested a commuter train. On Christmas, no less, which meant a densely populated area. They'd apparated and it hadn't taken more than a few seconds, so they probably weren't in another country or a different part of the country.

They hadn't spoken to her. Just put in her in this bare room and told her to keep quiet. Hermione had already recognized the signs. She was the bait, again. To draw Harry and the Order out.

At least they'd been content to ignore her so long as she kept quiet.

Quiet was better than the harsh touch of a mad woman who only wanted to cause pain. She hurt and healed and then hurt again.

Hermione had had enough of crazy people treating her like a damsel in distress. She didn't know how to move past the mental block that was the memories of that time at Malfoy Manor. All she could do was think of how Fleur would never let anything like that happen to her ever again.

Hopefully that would keep her sane until they could get her out of here.


	28. Act Three, Scene Five

**Golden Haze, Act Three, Scene Five**

**AN: **This story's limited POV has really come back to bit me in the ass. I consider writing a third person omniscient to be lazy writing, because there's no mystery and confusion. I think that sometimes, especially in this story, people have found that to be annoying because there is a clear lack of information that Fleur, as the only person whose POV we see, doesn't know everything. That's the point, but now I really wish that I had opened up the POV a little bit because there is so much I would rather have done with the content of this chapter. Oh well, you live and you learn, I guess.

**Music of the Story: **The Leverage Soundtrack – Joseph LoDuca

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She couldn't calm down. She was worried, biting her lip, pulling at her hair and her jacket. Fleur had found small chair in the corner of the Weasley's living room and had perched, precariously, on its edge. She was not staying, and certainly was not trying to get comfortable. The chair was hard under her and uncomfortable as she leaned forward on it, teetering on the edge of control and once again having none of it. She was trying, desperation coloring her usually collected and calm voice, to convince Harry and the others that it was time to leave once again.

Fleur knew that she was not the picture of calm that veela usually presented themselves as. No, she was nothing even remotely close to that. She was a wreck, completely agitated and obviously showing it. She had to get away from this place. Hermione needed her and they were not doing anything worthwhile here. To sit here and wait for something that probably was not going to happen was a fool's venture. Her eyes narrowed and she bit back cruel words that had no place here. She could not alienate herself now.

Her fingernail was in her mouth, she was worrying on it, eyes flicking from Harry to Ronald to William and back once again. She wanted to just leave, but Harry insisted that they wait until dawn. He had insisted that they come back that night too, after a day of fruitless searching for Hermione. There was nothing more to do outside, and William had been able to get the information that they needed about the safe house from his contacts. They had come back to speak with him, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, but Fleur had been unaware of that at the time.

Now she wanted out of the place and its false-happy memories. She could see William's hand on Mrs. Weasley's clock, pointed somewhere between 'danger' and 'about to do something completely stupid'. Had she ever been given a hand as a member of the family, her hand would probably already be on the second option. She gave it a withering glare and turned her attention back to the other people in the room. It was nearly three o'clock in the morning and she was not in the least bit tired. One by one, they had fallen, going back to their rooms to sleep, but not Fleur. Not with Hermione missing. The veela would not let her rest, she would sit vigil until she was able to go out and _find_ Hermione.

"Fleur, you have to be calm," William's voice broke the silence.

Fleur turned to stare at him disbelievingly. He, of all the people here, should understand. Why was no one letting her go? She knew she could leave, but there was something that held her back, a fear, a carry-over from before when she had been unable to truly be free of William, should she want to be. No, something was foolishly holding her back. Fleur wondered if it was the fact that she was still human and the veela had not fully taken control.

She was resisting to remain rational, but even then her control was slipping.

Fleur bit back a harsh retort and responded in as calm and even a voice as she could manage. She still sounded panicked and stressed, but at least she didn't sound potentially homicidal. That was what she was holding back from them, they could not know that her control was so close to slipping away. She was libel to do something foolish if she could not go out and search for Hermione soon. "I cannot be calm when she is away from me. I 'ave to find 'er, get 'er back."

Harry, from the armchair across from her, looked up at her all green-eyed and disgustingly earnest from behind his glasses and said, "Fleur, it's okay, we'll find her." He had been reviewing the case notes that Kingsley Shacklebolt himself had sent over for them to look through. He thought that there might be a link between Park's home and where they were holding Hermione.

_Once an auror, always an auror,_ William had laughed as he had presented the file to Harry and Ron for perusal. Fleur had thought him insane then, but it seemed as though the Minister for Magic had the right idea, as they looked more closely at the file.

All of a sudden Fleur felt a pang of fear and loneliness that she knew was not her own. The veela pushed hard against her tight control and Fleur inhaled quickly, afraid of what she might say now. Her control was so tenuous. The words forced their way out of her hazy mind and Fleur heard her voice then, low and threatening, "_Right now._"

She sounded like the monster that she pretended she was not.

At that moment, all of the inner peace that Fleur had so carefully cultivated within herself vanished and the self-loathing returned once again. It was because of the creature inside of her that they would not let her go. They worried she was going to be irrational, that she would act without consequence and that she would be a fool. The veela would be all of those things and more. It would kill anyone and everyone who stood in the way of her reuniting with Hermione.

Fleur did not want them to know that though, she did not want them to be aware of how dangerously close to that edge she was.

If the opportunity presented itself, she would take it and vanish without a trace if it meant saving Hermione. She was not afraid of running off and taking control of the situation. She would kill, maim, and destroy anyone who got in the way of her mate – be they friend or foe. This was why she was here, she did not trust herself alone. Her control was so thin, at any moment, the wrong word could set her off and she would be gone. She trusted them, trusted in the savior of the wizarding world, to keep her from killing.

Harry looked up from over his glasses, his green eyes narrowed and disbelieving in the way that Fleur was acting. He didn't understand, he was still just a little boy.

(You are not much older.)

"Bill was able to figure out why they took her. They want her letters out of the paper for a while." He pushed a sheet of paper towards her with what appeared to a flow chart on it. Fleur wanted to scream, she had no _time_ for graphs and charts, now was the time for action. She had to act like she wasn't going insane resisting the pull of the bond and of the veela, so she leaned forward and picked up the paper. "They won't harm her," Harry continued.

Fleur blinked, staring at the paper in her hands and yet not really seeing it. Someone had scrawled a sequential pattern of events that probably made sense to a human brain; the veela was less than enthused by it. Fleur set the paper down before she tore it up. Her voice shook as she spoke, the words coming out, bubbling forth from deep within her. "She is mine," her bangs had fallen into her eyes, obscuring how harsh and angry they looked. "They cannot take what does not belong to them," Fleur trailed off with a hiss, glaring around the room, daring them to disagree with her.

Ronald Weasley, uncharacteristically silent in this exchange, leaned forward from next to Harry and placed his hand on the papers in front of his friend. "Now see here Fleur, Hermione is her own person, she doesn't belong to you." His eyes were just as angry as she felt.

Fleur shook her head, smiling sadly at Hermione's young friend. He did not understand, none of them did, really. There was so little that she could actually come out and say about this without potentially breaking some tenant of veela tradition. She would not be the one to tell them about the bonding, that was Hermione's secret to reveal. "Vous ne comprenez pas," Fleur looked down at her hands. She chose her words carefully, knowing that she had to make her point _very_ clear or else she was going to end up doing something that she was going to regret. "The veela does not care, and I can only be rational for so long before I will lose control completely. And then you will 'ave to deal with the veela."

Ronald thought about what she'd said for a minute, before leaning back on the couch and looking suddenly more weary than before. He folded his arms across his chest and scowled, and Harry, in his infinite wisdom, pointed out: "Still, she isn't a possession."

Fleur threw up her hands, she had no idea how to even begin to talk about this. She had been able to explain it to Hermione fairly well, mostly because Hermione _read_ and paid attention in class. "'arry," she began, her hands coming down to rest on her knees, "écoutez moi, you 'ave never 'ad a professeur who taught about 'ow different species love. You do not know what you are talking about. At least, not in the context of 'ermione and myself." She looked up then, eyes pleading with those bright green ones across the coffee table from her for understanding that she did not think he could possess. He was too ignorant, he didn't know he was playing with fire. "We must save 'er. I cannot stay calm much longer."

"We wait until morning." William said, placing a calming hand on her shoulder. She flinched and pulled away from him.

"Non!" Fleur hissed, eyes narrowing and fingernails lengthening. She inhaled slowly, drawing on what little control she had left. Her nails did not shorten, her control was getting thinner. "We must go _now."_

"Fleur, seriously, she's not going to get hurt." Harry put his hands down on the table before him, trying to look like a picture of calm. Fleur could see it in his eyes, though, the uneasiness and worry. She'd seen him look that way before, back when they were all hidden away in Shell Cottage waiting for Hermione to recover. "She's not a treat to them. They don't know her connection to you."

Ronald nodded enthusiastically, pulling a galleon out of his pocket and flipping it to Fleur, who caught it, overly long fingers and all. As she stared down at it, eyes disbelieving, Ron pointed out what Fleur had always considered to be an obvious fact about Hermione Granger. "Besides, Hermione's ace at getting herself out of situations like this," Indicating that Fleur should flip the galleon over; she saw what he had been talking about. Along the edging was a clever bit of spell work that Fleur recognized easily as having Hermione's magical signature all over it. Fleur read the message quickly and frowned, not sure she understood the code used. "We sent her a message on the galleons we used to use for the DA. She got it, the spell went through. She knows we're lookin' for her."

Fleur set the galleon on the table. "You are all … what is the word… bête… stupid, but brilliant." She sighed, not knowing how much she could actually reveal of her worries for Hermione. How much control it would take to say the words out and how likely she was to lose control upon speaking them. The veela was a creature of simple wants and needs, denying what it wanted was easy enough, you just had to _emphatically_ avoid thinking about it. To speak on it, and to be so worried, was fraying Fleur's nerves.

She spoke, her voice shaking as she kept her eyes downwards, watching her hands for any signs of further loss of control. Golden Haze filled her vision and she bit the inside of her cheek to keep from crying out as the veela's rage took her. Inhale, exhale. It was so easy to pretend she was not about to fly off and do something utterly stupid. "I am worried for 'ermione's mental well-being. Physically, she is likely to be unharmed as long as she does not resist. In 'er head… I cannot be so sure."

Hermione would be trapped within her head, it was what Bellatrix had left her with, nightmares and terror. Fleur hoped she would be okay, hoped and desperately longed to leave and to go out there once again. The idea of waiting sickened her, but it was the waiting that was keeping her in check. She would not succumb to the golden haze so long as she was here, and until the morning that was her only line of defense.

"Bellatrix…" Ron breathed.

"Exactly." Fleur clapped her hands together, the veela pushing her to speak even more, despite her desperate attempts to control the creature. "Which is why we must leave now." Her voice was a dull hiss, but she knew that they heard it.

William fell back into his chair. "The sun rises in two hours. Try and rest until then." He threw a hand over his eyes and added, "Even villains sleep Fleur. Hermione probably is to."

Fleur could not argue, her control back once again.

x

At dawn, Draco Malfoy arrived at The Burrow with two aurors in two. Apparently, they had picked him up at Malfoy Manor (something that he was none too pleased about) and they'd all come to collect Fleur and William. Fleur had been out the door and heading to where their research had indicated the safe house was even before Mrs. Weasley could attempt to feed them breakfast. Eating could wait until Hermione was rescued.

She apparated to an alleyway near the house and stood there, staring at it in the dim light, her fingers flexing. She'd never been able to fully calm down enough for them to completely shift back to those of a human, the haze was still ever present on her vision. With the partial shift, the veela had so much more control, so when Draco Malfoy appeared a second later with a sharp crack, Fleur was not at all surprised.

"Your control is terrible," He said, forcing a thermos full of coffee into her hands. "Weasley sent this along. He's getting breakfast with the aurors from his mother." He spat out the last work like a curse and Fleur raised an eyebrow.

"Do you not like Madame Weasley?" She asked, trying to get the conversation away from her (lamentable) lack of control. "She 'as always been kind to me."

"She does not like me," Draco said, folding his arms tightly across his chest and scowling. He squinted at the house across the busy muggle road from them. "Can you sense her?"

Fleur shook her head. The thread of consciousness that she'd been picking up on in spurts ever since Hermione had been taken was oddly silent. She wondered if they'd added more wards to the house. "Non, I do not sense anything." She hung her head, fearful that they'd moved Hermione to a different location during the night.

Draco Malfoy frowned and picked his way down the alleyway. He looked out of place in muggle jeans and jacket, a slytherin scarf wrapped tightly around his neck against the cold. They were pretending to be tourists; he was trying to look the part. It was so jarring to see one of her pureblood students attempting to blend into muggle London, and the thought of it drew Fleur's consciousness along a strangled and thin line back to something that could be labeled control. Her fingers shifted and became softer, once more looking like fingers rather than claws. She sighed gratefully, and turned her attention back to the street.

"They'll be along in a few minutes," He said a few moments later, still staring at the house.

She nodded and took up next to him, standing silent vigil and waiting for something, anything, to happen.

Twenty minutes later there was a sharp crack and she and Draco turned to see the two aurors as well as William and Harry. Fleur could not bring herself to look enthused as they arrived, but soon they were standing in a small circle speaking quickly and assessing their options.

The two aurors' names were Robert Butler and Clyde McKenzie, both were from London proper and knew quite a bit about the neighborhood where Jones and his group had decided to set up their headquarters. As they were sharing their knowledge, Fleur felt her control start to slip once more. She tried to focus her attention on what was being said, but she found her concentration slipping away more and more quickly with every passing moment.

The circle broke and Fleur exhaled quietly. Soon they would be moving and she'd be able to fight and claw her way thought the evil, murderous people who had taken Hermione away from her. She would spare them so that they could go on trial, for kidnapping one so close to Harry Potter was sure to ensure a very public trial. Attacking a rich man's son, even one convicted of being a death eater, was another crime they'd have to pay for.

"_Qu'est-ce que je pense?"_ Fleur muttered, her long overcoat billowing out around her knees as she walked closer to the street to get a better view of the house they were watching. What _was_ she thinking indeed? There was no reason for pity, no reason for mercy. She would kill them for what they did.

"'ow is your man so sure they'll be there?" Butler asked, standing just off her right shoulder and chewing on a toothpick. He was staring across the street at the unlikely row house. They were in the very heart of London. The tube rattled in its tracks just beneath their feet and an aboveground train whistle could be heard just up the road from where they stood.

Fleur didn't know if Butler was talking to her or to William, who was grim-faced and silent against the alley wall, a folded map of London open in his hands.

"'e 'as 'is ways," Fleur said with a glance over to William. The veela pushed and she continued, despite the fact that she was lying through her teeth, "Can we not go inside? I think I can sense her presence."

He shook his head. "We must wait." The plan was to wait until one of Jones' group either came in or out of the house and then use that circumstantial evidence to seek entry to the house by any means necessary. Harry had trotted off down the road a few minutes before to set some wards that the aurors had suggested that repelled muggles at the first sign of magical conflict. That way, at least, no innocent bystanders would get hurt. Fleur supposed that she was glad of that, but the veela simply wanted to lash out and hurt anything and everything that stood between it and Hermione – its mate.

There was only so little she could do to maintain that control right now, Draco was watching her closely for that very reason. He knew spells that would work on a veela, should they need to stop her from murdering someone. Or at least, she hoped he did, given his heritage.

Butler frowened at William and pulled his toothpick from his mouth. "Bill, what the bloody hell were you doing going undercover with them? You're not a trained auror or information gatherer." He spat on the ground and Fleur looked away, revolted, "And you certainly don't _blend in_ well."

"I was the best man for the job." William shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets and staring at the ground. Fleur could tell by his body language that he did not want to talk about it further, but that he probably was going to have to anyway. McKenzie and Butler were both trained investigators, they knew about information gathering and William really was in no position to hide the fact that the reason he was doing this was because of marital problems that were entirely of his (and Fleur's) own creations.

McKenzie closed his notebook with a snap and tucked his pencil behind his ear, "I find that rather hard to believe, you're still just a kid."

William sighed, loudly and as dramatically as possible. Fleur had heard that sigh before, it usually meant that he was about to go off and speak his mind as thoroughly as possible. She felt for him, really she did, there was no reason to have to out himself to these people, but if it made this any easier for him to explain to them, she supposed that he was welcome to do it. "McKenzie, I'm gay. I'm married to a woman, who – no offense Fleur – who is part magical creature and it is pretty obvious if you read the gossip column in the _Prophet_ that we're not exactly fawning all over each other."

"Oh." Butler said at the same time McKenzie's pencil was removed from behind his ear and the notebook was hurriedly reopened. Fleur hoped he wasn't writing down anything disparaging, but she did know that aurors, at least in comparison to their muggle counterparts, were considerably less prone to abusing their power.

"It gave me the perfect in, Jones listened to my story and bought it." William continued, blowing into his hands to warm them. They were standing near a subway vent, but the wind had a harsh edge to it that made Fleur shiver slightly as William spoke. "He's a pretty shrewd bloke, honestly. I was surprised he didn't question my motivations more."

"Maybe he's just a fool then. I mean, considering what he's been up to, it seems entirely plausible." Fleur watched as McKenzie glanced over to Draco's still-bandaged fingers and back to William. She had to agree with his assessment, there was literally no reason for them to do what they were doing unless they were completely stupid. They'd managed to anger a veela that Fleur was just barely managing to keep under control, not to mention kidnapping one of their savior's closest friends and confidents. It just seemed as though the whole thing was not at all well-thought-out.

(The best laid plans do sometimes seem that way), the veela purred in her mind while pushing harshly against her mental barriers. Haze filled Fleur's vision and suddenly the dreary day seemed bright and sun-filled. She shook her head to clear her vision. It was only an illusion, just like her outward calm.

She hoped that aurors would not stun her when she did finally lose control.

William made an affirmative noise. "I think that that's why they took Hermione, because she was the one writing all those letters to the editor of the _Daily Prophet_. They knew it was her from the first one she wrote but they couldn't figure out _why _she was writing them. They thought that she of all people would be on their side."

Harry Potter came around the corner just as Draco raised his hands to look at the bandages. They glanced warily at each other as Draco muttered angrily, "There's nothing to be on their side for, they're crazy."

With a gesture that was almost certainly for show, William folded his arms sullenly across his chest and stared moodily at all of them. The map that had been in his hands was now crumpled and crushed against his chest. "I know. I mean, honestly – they're obsessed with this idea of beastiality but have somehow missed the point that we're _wizards_. We are not constrained by the same principles that muggles are."

"They are not 'aving any of it," Fleur muttered, "They want us gone because we are different and are inhuman to them."

This was the crux of it. The very thought that she could not stomach. Wasn't this taught in British schools? At Beauxbatons it had been made clear from the beginning of their first year that there would be little tolerance for intolerance. While there had been the usual pureblood-versus-muggleborn conflict, it had never been drawn out to the same level that it had been at Hogwarts the year that she was there, not how it was like during the war. It tested her control to the very limits as she tried to imagine how someone could miss the point so completely.

Butler threw his toothpick on the ground and rubbed his hands together. Funny, they were all so cold. Fleur did not feel a thing. The cold did very little to her skin it seemed, and her coat was thin as it was. She supposed that it was the rage of the veela, coursing through her veins, that kept her from feeling her body's fatigue and the cold of the wintry morning.

Looking Fleur up and down, Butler's eyes narrowed, "But why?" With another look, he continued, "You look human enough to me."

"Exactement." Fleur nodded. She was human, in every respect save one; and most veela didn't even have that problem. She was still working towards that feeling of completeness but she knew that it was only being hurt by having to constantly question her own personal identity. Why was it that when she was finally able to start to accept herself for who she was that something came once again and drove a wedge in between the veela and her own subconscious?

These were questions that Fleur knew full-well that she would never have the answer to. Because that veela was also a part of herself that she had to become comfortable with if she was ever to live her life fully. It was a hard thing to even start to think about tackling, let alone contemplate actually doing it. She exhaled angrily and tried to clear her head. There was no help for her now, and something had better happen or else she was literally going to lose control and start to lash out at people.

No one wanted to see that.

"Then why do it?" Harry demanded, pulling the crumpled map away from William and unfolding it carefully. Fleur watched as he smoothed the edges and carefully folded it down so only the small section of it that contained the neighborhood they were currently observing was showing.

"Fear of the unknown, probably. They also don't want the legislation that Hermione and Malfoy over there are working on to pass." William said with an off-handed shrug.

"But it gives them rights! It helps them!" Harry nearly dropped the map as Draco's voice cut across their quiet conversation. He was annoyed, clearly, by his tone. Fleur's eyes narrowed, wondering just how close _he_ was to losing control.

"Ils sont des imbéciles." Fleur agreed, eyes trained on the house. She could sense Hermione there, if she could only just go. The thread of consciousness through the bond was awake once more, and Fleur could sense Hermione pulling at it.

_She's figured it out then_, Fleur thought grimly, and allowed her walls to fall just enough to send positive thoughts and the promise of rescue in Hermione's direction.

One step, two steps, the street was silent on this strange British holiday where many people were still with their families, celebrating Christmas. She could get Hermione home and still have it be Christmas, yes, yes she could.

"Fleur, wait." William said, stepping forward and grabbing her arm. She could feel his warm hand through her thin jacket and suddenly Fleur realized just how very cold she was.

Her eyes narrowed and she hissed at him, threatening and completely alien on her tongue. The veela had pushed, and it would push again. She was going to lose control, it was only a matter of minutes if something did not happen to change the course of how their luck seemed to be going. "I 'ave to get 'er out. Before she is killed or worse because of what I did."

"You being a veela does not mean anything in this!" Harry protested, "They just want her to stop working on that law."

"The law helps everyone, Potter, but people don't see it that way." Draco stuck his hands in his jacket pockets. His mouth was obscured by his scarf, but his voice rang out clearly through the alleyway. "Think about the laws the Dark Lord passed, that actually restricted the movements of many of his following, people still blindly supported it because they supported the man behind it even if it took away their own rights to even be considered a person."

"Then why oppose it?" Harry wanted to know. Fleur didn't blame him, he was not very good at this politics thing. It had been evidenced in the summer, when he had suddenly become the most desirable wizard in the world, having vanquished Voldemort. He had not known how to interact with the press, with government officials, with anyone other than his yearmates at Hogwarts.

"Jones doesn't want "nonhumans" or creations of "rape" – animals can't consent, you know – to be afforded the same rights by the government." William supplied. Fleur flinched at the idea, there was something so very wrong about even bringing up rape in a conversation about veela. It was the one thing that their species could not do. "At least that was the talk around their headquarters. He hasn't said as much in as many words."

"Honestly, a veela or a banshee or a vampire is no more an animal than you or I." Draco folded his arms over his chest and scowled.

The thought came again, unbidden as before, about the poor education system in the country. Muggleborn students were expected to know far more and comprehend a good deal about a society that they had never been exposed to – it was not a stretch to learn about a creature in Defense or Care of Magical Creatures and just assume inhumanity. Most wizards, unless they were part-veela or banshee, were probably not going to mention the fact that they possessed creature blood. "I 'ave been thinking," She said, tapping her finger on her chin and wondering if forcing herself to think critically about things was actually helping her to stay in control. "What if it is because they never learned in school and just know that a lot of old families 'ave magical creature 'eritage? So this is their revenge…"

There was a crack behind them and they all turned as one. The tall and skinny form of Misses Park stood on the street corner, looking shocked. They had been disguised as tourists, Harry was holding a map, but Fleur knew right away that it was too late. Harry was too recognizable, even with a skullcap pulled down low over his glasses. They had been spotted, her chance was now. Park's wand arm shot into the air and a silvery mist erupted from it before she apparated away.

Fleur ran forward, one step, two steps, before she found the thread of Hermione's consciousness carefully buried within her heart and tugged on it. She could get there. She closed her eyes and cleared her head, destination clearly in mind.

She vanished with a crack like a whip, not caring that she had left behind her back up and she was not nearly a skilled enough duelist to take down this entire organization. She didn't care. She had to save Hermione.


	29. Act Three, Scene Six

**Golden Haze, Act Three, Scene Six**

**AN: **Fight Scenes are fun, just fyi. Hopefully you guys enjoy this chapter and take the time to tell me so!

I have to say this right now, the French in this chapter might be a little… terrible. If anyone reading this speaks French, _please_ tell me if I'm saying completely stupid things that make no sense.

Also BIG BIG BIG thank you to S, who has reviewed and corrected some French errors! You, sir/madame/porpoise, are awesome.

Music of the Story: Joseph LoDuca – Leverage OST, plus Lady Gaga – Americano (GO DOWNLOAD BORN THIS WAY RIGHT NOW! I DO NOT CARE WHAT ANYONE SAYS GAGA IS AMAZING – don hate.)

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Veela magic was different than the magic that humans learned at Hogwarts or Beauxbatons. There was no control, just the feeling of what was very right and what was very, very wrong. They were empathetic beings, veela, and very much ruled by both their own emotions and that of those around them. The mania and the wild magic that took her at the moment she lost control was enough to drive her mad, should she not constantly struggle against the veela's magic and control. Her grandmother told her that this was her own fault. Fleur knew that had she not so completely divided her identity from that of the veela, if she had remained more comfortable with the fact that she was, indeed, part magical creature, that she would not have so much trouble with her control. She did not want to, and yet she had to.

Fleur Delacour had lost herself in that wild magic. The magic of the veela, so harsh and different from the human magic that Fleur had grown up on, had somehow changed her perspective on things. It pulled her after the dark and willowy Madame Park, through twists and turns of magical signature and apparation points along the way, her body moving in time – in step – with her foe. She would catch her and kill her for Hermione's honor. That was the veela's goal, and she would do anything to achieve it.

Fleur paled at the realization that she was willing to kill. It was the veela's dedication and determination, not her own, that had forced her to arrive at this conclusion. She could bring herself to feel differently. She wanted to kill to find Hermione, she wanted something, anything, that would make the ache of Hermione's absence feel better in her heart.

Her feet pounded on pavement, through snow, across fields long asleep in the wintry chill. Hermione was not in the row house, she gathered as Park lead her further and further away from London. Fleur wondered how she had been so easily able to sense her mate's presence in the house. She had been there, probably right up until the point where Fleur had apparated after Madame Park. And now they were all being led away, and she was giving the fastest chase.

_Hermione,_ she thought desperately, raising her wand and pointing it at the flickering image of Park before her. If she timed it right, she'd be able to stop this retreat fully. Determination was the one tenant of apparation that Fleur had never had a problem with, and she knew that to change her destination in the middle of such a spell would like splitch herself. She concentrated, her wand outstretched, and stopped the spell.

She landed in a long corridor. At first glance it appeared to be a hospital, but Fleur narrowed her eyes and saw the locks on the doors and the padding on the walls. This was no hospital for those who were merely ill. The fear gripped her; she'd seen places like this in muggle horror films with friends over summers long-past. These were places where villains that had tormented her nightmares as a child had resided – before she had real evil to have nightmares about. Now she had to defend herself in such a place.

She gulped, and pressed forward.

Her shoes made a harsh tapping sound as she stepped forward hurriedly. This was a bad place to duel; there was no cover, nothing that she could use to defend herself. She did not trust her spell work and no matter how hard she pushed against the veela's iron control, she could not break it. The veela was an emotional being and it functioned on the drive of those emotions. She could not be defeatist at this point, or the veela would lose what little power it had.

"Why must you be so persistent?" Park demanded, wand moving in a complicated motion that she didn't recognize. William had mentioned that they were all duelists in some form or another, Park was good with spell creation like Fleur was.

_Naturellement._

She threw up a shield charm and stood her ground, watching with narrowed eyes. "You 'ave taken something that belongs to me," her voice came out as a hiss, full of power and hurt and anger. Fleur swallowed, terrified of what she had become. Hermione could not see her like this. Hermione did not fully understand what she was, even though she had said she did not care.

Veela were terrifying creatures ruled by emotions that Fleur could not even begin to explain to an outsider. Fleur feared the creature as she always had, but now she had become what she had been so afraid of.

Doubt clouded her vision, and she sent a hesitant stunning spell forward, wondering if the spell that Park had cast was a shield charm of some sort. She had never seen a spell motion like that, and she did not want to take any risks. She had followed Park, even though she'd been trying to follow the thread of Hermione's consciousness that still pressed, terrified, against the back of her mind. Fleur knew that she was running out of time, and that she had to get to Hermione before the veela did something foolish that they would both regret for a long time after this current predicament was over. She wanted, oh how she wanted, to lunge forward past Park's shielding spell and choke the life out of her. Fleur knew she could do it, it would be so easy, Park would be easy to overpower in a physical fight.

_You cannot do that._ Fleur thought desperately, she was speaking to herself, to the veela, to their shared consciousness. _You cannot dishonor Hermione by taking needless life. _

"She deserves to die." Fleur caught herself speaking then, "They all do."

Park looked up, her thin face clouded with a dark emotion that Fleur had seen many times during the war – murderous intent. The woman before her stepped forward, pushing past the spell that Fleur could just barely see at the corners of her vision and standing unprotected before the spell. "You are one of them, aren't you?" the woman's voice was cruel and emotionless. Fleur flinched as she spoke, her words cutting deep into Fleur's consciousness, full of the same hatred that Fleur had felt for herself for so long. "You are a creature that came into this world unnaturally; you don't deserve to be here!"

"I think my mother would object to your saying that I was born unnaturally," Fleur quipped, her hand steady despite the fear that was clearly evident in her voice. She had to defeat Park at her own game, get the location of Hermione out of her, and rescue her lover before it was too late. William and the others would be looking for her, for Hermione, for any trace of either of them.

Hermione had never been in that row house that they'd been watching. She had been close, but certainly not in the house.

The veela's magic took her then, and Fleur began her attack. She sent three cutting spells in quick succession, all non-verbal save the last. They went to different trajectories with hopes that Park would not notice the casting of multiple spells in the same general vicinity. As Park dropped to the ground and all three hit the wall, Fleur realized that she'd seen through the attack and that her shield charm was quite powerful.

"Deep freeze," Fleur muttered to herself in French, knowing an elemental spell might not be the best choice here, but knowing that the cold that she was about to introduce into this long corridor would slow down Park's reaction time enough that she might actually be able to get a hit in. Fleur exhaled, and slashed her wand downwards quickly and then off to the left in a loop, watching as ice spread from the base of her feet down the length of their dueling ground.

Fleur flicked her wand upwards and cast the strongest warming charm she knew over herself before moving once again onto the offensive. Her clothing was thin, and ill-suited to the cold weather outside, she had to be as war as possible.

Dueling had never really been her strongest suit. There was time for creativity in dueling, but spell creation was more of Fleur's speed. She could work her way through a problem before she actually had to implement it in real life, dueling was not like that. Too much was done on the fly and there was so much potential for error that Fleur did not dare actually start to think more creatively than spells she had already mastered.

Her hair fell into her eyes, clouding her vision with a white-blonde glow as she stepped forward across the frozen room. The spell had been far stronger than the one that she had initially thought it was going to be, and she was a little taken aback by how much energy she had poured into the spell. She would have to be careful, she did not have the endless magical reserves of a child and the offense she was thinking of taking required quite a bit of magical energy.

"Where is 'ermione?" Fleur asked evenly, sending two stunners followed closely by another cutting spell down the hallway in the direction of Mrs. Park.

The woman's black hair was the only part of her that was left in the space where Fleur's spells hit, her body hitting the floor and quickly rolling to the side and firing off her own spells. Fleur recognized the pale blue spell light and turned, the stinging hex passing just inches before her face. The cold air was slowing the magic down, and the warming charm was giving her enough time to properly react.

She had to stop this, she had to end this, she had to get to Hermione. The veela's mind was singularly obsessed with the idea of it – Fleur had to find a way to stop it, to make it so that Hermione would never be hurt again.

Park's shield charms had to have a weakness. She was using the seventh point method. The spell framework was obvious and visible every time one of Fleur spells hit it. She'd hit the points and the seams so far, and her spells had fallen uselessly by the wayside. She tried to remember how to place the emphasis that she needed to in order to break through, there had been something about this in a lesson she'd taught her seventh years just a few weeks ago. She couldn't remember, the veela was clouding her mind, she couldn't think.

The magic came to her mind and her hand moved before she had even thought the action through. There was a breaking charm that she'd used in the tombs in Egypt and Jordan with William before the war started. The wand motion was complicated, but the spell was fairly obscure so Fleur was almost positive that Park would not recognize it. She moved her hand in the first downward slash and began the incantation.

Ancient Hebrew was not her strongest suit on a good day, but shivering in the cold of this dingy corridor and cowering behind her own hastily erected shielding spells was not the best place to try and recall such an old language from memory. The veela was confident and Fleur could do nothing but watch with wide and horrified eyes as her hands moved of their own accord, completing the spell that she herself did not have the will to complete.

She drew her arm upwards, in the preamble to a rude gesture and then pushed outwards. The golden light of the curse erupted from the end of her wand and Fleur lowered herself behind her shields, crouched and ready. "Maqtiním," the word sounded harsh and guttural across her lips, _shrink. _

The purpose of that spell, had Fleur been in a teaching sort of mood, was to take down the size, substantially of stronger and large-area protection spells. It was commonly used in wizarding archeology and among certain communities of goblins, but was not in common use among wizards outside of academia and had not been for some centuries. One of the benefits of studying spell creation after completing the seventh year examinations was the fact that one got to research such spells and look for ways to modify them to bring them back into vogue.

Park's shield charm was no match for such an old and powerful spell. It shrank to the size of a dinner plate even before Fleur was able to send several stunners and a paralytic charm of her own invention in the general direction of Park. Casting so many offensive spells in such quick succession had completely winded Fleur. She knelt on the broken tile floor of this long-abandoned hallway and gasped for air. Park was paralyzed, she'd hit her – she had to have, the woman's shield had fallen with one well-placed stunner to the apex.

"What did you do to me?" Park demanded as Fleur finally pulled herself unsteadily to her feet and advanced across the frozen hallway, wand outstretched. Her shield spells were following her, but she'd considerably reduced the power in order to carry them with her and still have enough magic to attack if need be. "Is this some sort of veela trickery?"

Fleur paused, wand at the ready, debating her words carefully. "If you are thinking that this is something I 'ave fabriqué, than, oui, I 'ave." She stepped forward, her face hovering just inches before Park's own, frozen as it now was. She knew her face was contorted into an angry and hateful expression, and yet she could not help but elaborate, "But that is a mastery of spell creation, certainly not a trick of the veela."

Park spat on her face.

The veela lashed out, nails raking along Park's face, drawing blood as she slowly dragged them across the soft flesh there. "Ne m'insultez pas," Fleur growled. Her hand was covered in blood now, the cuts had opened a flow of blood that was flowing freely down Park's face. "Now, you 'ave one question to answer, if you tell me what it is that I want to know, I will leave you to the aurors and that will be that."

Park made a move to spit again, but Fleur's wand was quicker, and _langlock _was a fantastic hex no matter the application. It was a non-traditional application of the spell, but Fleur was rather adverse to getting spat upon again. "As I was saying, if you do not, I will kill you."

"I do not fear death," Park said as Fleur's low powered spell wore off. "Do it. I will not betray the others."

Fleur tutted under her breath and reached out, clawed hand closing around Park's throat. "I would recommend that you reconsider, Madame Park. I do not mean to kill you in the wizarding way." Her allowed her eyes, pupil-less and dangerous, to flash the gold of the veela – this much she had control over at least – before continuing, "My way is decidedly more barbaric. And you 'ave stolen my _mate."_

Fleur Delacour had never been a violent person, even during the war her magic had been far more focused on the defense, rather than the offense. At the time, this had been to her advantage, as William was far better with attack spells than he was with shielding charms, despite his top marks at Hogwarts. Because of this, the people that Fleur had ended up killing during the war had been entirely acts of self-defense. She had no context for attacking someone in so violent a manner, and all she knew was to push and push until finally the other broke.

"Where is Hermione Granger?" Fleur demanded, speaking as clearly as she could, her control gone. Her voice was not her own, her hands were not her own. She could do nothing to spare this woman the wrath of the veela and she did not want to. The woman deserved to die and to burn for what she had did, and if Fleur was the one who sent her to that demise, then all the more power to her. She had been prepared to do this the moment she'd seen Hermione's patronus.

The law stood with the veela in situations like this, they were always in the right because they were not in their right mind. She did not want to kill Park, she did not even know if she could, but her body filled with a longing that she could not quite explain. She had to have this woman's life for what she had done to Hermione.

Park laughed then. "Harry Potter's friend?" Her eyes narrowed, and Fleur wished that she'd managed to include a paralyzing agent in the spell for that as well. Park had a very distinctive way of moving her eyes that was putting Fleur on edge. She didn't trust herself around those eyes, and she need the information. "She needed to be silenced. That law cannot pass, it allows for humans to be indiscriminately raped by magical creatures."

Fleur sighed, "You 'ave been misled. Magical creatures are sentient, therefore they can consent to be intimate with 'umans, and wizards – or muggles – can certainly consent aussi." She pointed her wand at Park's face. The woman's brown hair and willowy form seemed to fan out and tremble under the gathering of power at Fleur's wand-tip. "If one were to fall in love with a veela or a banshee, or even a vampire, it would not be wrong, merely different."

Park scowled, dark eyes flashing dangerously and Fleur lowered her wand to rest between the woman's narrowed eyes.

"If you do not tell me where 'ermione is, I will say the words and you will die." Fleur moved the wand in a small circle, beginning the blasting spell she had been gathering power for. Her reserves were nearly tapped, she would not be able to fight any more of them if she had to use this spell. "Do you wish for death, Madame Park?"

Park turned her head away, Fleur's wand dragging across her temple to rest against her ear. "I do not," the woman said quietly, her voice shaking. Fleur could not help the satisfied smile that spread across her face as Park conceded defeat. "You should go to the northeast safe house, it's just outside of London. In the suburbs. We've left her there."

Fleur stepped away, and concentrated hard on the moment that Hermione had come to her on the Astronomy Tower, their bonding, and spoke the patronus charm. She told the silvery bird of prey to find William, and vanished once again, leaving Park to the aurors. She hoped that they would have a fate in place for her that was fitting.

x

The room was cold, and Fleur's warming charm was starting to wear off. She had found the place easily enough, finally able to relax enough to apparate close to where she sensed Hermione's magical signature. Park had implied heavily that Hermione was alone. This was good, it meant that Fleur could get her out with little resistance. Her magical reserves were greatly depleted thanks to the duel and Fleur wasn't sure that she could survive another fight.

The house was quiet and inconspicuous, a light dusting to snow covering the yard and driveway. Fleur picked her way carefully through the neighborhood that lead up to the house at the end of the road. It looked as though no one had lived there in several years, the shrubbery was uneven, leafless as it was, and the grass in the lawn had obviously gone to seed.

Fleur could sense the wards on the place from the end of the road. They were strong feeling, but the same sort that Fleur had cast over and over during the war around herself and William.

_So common, and yet so foolish. _Fleur thought darkly, speaking the most common passkey and passing through the first level of wards without a problem. The second level was much the same, and by the time she'd tapped her wand on the door and whispered, "_Alohomora,__" _Fleur had realized quite a bit about their enemies.

Their operation was small, they used foreclosed upon or abandoned houses as their safe houses, and they did not much care for those who had veela blood. All facts where interesting and relevant, but as she stepped into the house, Fleur could feel Hermione's rising panic. Hermione must have been left alone in this place ever since she was taken.

The place was freezing, and Fleur shivered as she stepped into the house. The door swung close behind her and Fleur lit her wand nonverbally and held it above her head. "'allo!" she called into the gloom of the foyer. There was a thumping to her left and it took all of Fleur's willpower to not run towards the sound. She had to be careful, there could be traps, curses on the very floor she was standing upon.

Fleur flicked her wand and whispered the incantation several wide-area scanning spells. She was looking for the magical residue that was commonly left behind when one was casting wards or cursing objects. She did not move from her place on the welcome mat until the scans were finished and were negative save for a particularly strong series of locking charms on a door in the general direction of the thumping noise that Fleur had heard when she had called out into the empty house.

_Hermione_, she thought darkly, her face grim. She didn't know if she would be able to break through all of those charms in her current state. The shield-breaking spell that she'd used on Park had taken so much out of her, all she wanted was to go and sleep for a week – she'd be alright then, but Hermione needed to be rescued first.

Her steps were uneven as she tried doors down the hallway off to her left. One opened to a closet and another to a kitchen. The final door was stuck and covered in spell runes that Fleur had never seen before. She knocked on the door hesitantly, grateful that the spell did not prevent her from doing that.

Her hand sounded hollow as she tapped on the door, "'ermione?" she called, her voice shaking slightly. So many emotions were swirling around in her head, she could not stomach them all. She was so afraid that Hermione would be hurt beyond repair, or that she would not be able to break through the wards on the door. "'ermione es-tu là?"

There was silence on the other side of the door and then Hermione's voice could be heard, muffled by the door. "Fleur? Is that you?"

Fleur could not speak, a feeling of extreme relief crossed her face and she exhaled happily as Hermione spoke from the other side of the door. If she could talk, she was probably unharmed.

"Who's there?" Hermione's voice had become more frantic, and Fleur found herself pulled away from her musing. She had to respond, or Hermione was bound to think that she had gone completely crazy and that was simply unacceptable.

Fleur's brow furrowed, staring at the wards. She knew that the runes could easily be reversed, but she had half a mind to simply blast her way through the door and rescue Hermione that way. The rest of the spell work did require the blasting spell she so longed to use, so Fleur supposed that she was in luck. She exhaled, staring that the runes that so clearly said that she should not be able to blast though them, knowing that she could. "C'est moi, 'ermione," her voice was low, but loud enough that she was sure that Hermione would be able to hear her.

The blasting spell was complicated enough that she did not really comprehend Hermione's happy sigh of relief. She drew the magical energy that she would need in towards herself and began the wand motions, half and eye on the door and that runes, hoping she could create a strong enough blast to get through the wards. The runes were rather problematic, but Fleur was confident as she began the spell. Her voice sounded like the harsh hiss of the veela as she spoke, "Get away from the door, I am going to break the wards."

Hermione did not move right away, and Fleur held the spell as best she could, the magical energy at bay as Hermione spoke, her voice desperate and pleading, "Fleur, Fleur you have to get me out of here."

"I am working on it," Her teeth were tight together, her eyes narrowed and her lips pursed. Hermione had to be gone, the spell was so difficult to control if she held it at the point where she currently had it for too long. "Are you clear?" she asked, her voice quiet.

"Yes." Hermione sounded like she was shouting.

Fleur exhaled, "Alright." She swung her wand upwards in a short slashing motion and quickly pulled it across her body before twisting it downwards. Blasting spells had always come easily to her despite the complicated wand movements that went along with them. Fleur had always reasoned that the skill with them came from the veela's deep-seeded need to destroy things, starting with Fleur's personal life, and moving on from there.

The magical energy that she'd been holding back burst forth through her wand, pausing for a moment before pushing past the relatively weak wards. Fleur watched with satisfaction as the runes, written in chalk as was customary stood their ground for a moment before bursting into flames and dissolving into nothing. The door was completely gone, her magic had destroyed it, leaving nothing but two rusting door hinges in its place.

Fleur stepped into the room, her lover's name on her lips as she hurried towards the hunched form against the far wall of the small room she'd managed to break into. ""ermione," Fleur said, staring at her lover, who weakly pulled herself to her feet. Fleur stood there for a moment, wondering what it was that she should be doing. She wanted to go to Hermione to pull her into a tight embrace and never, ever, let go. Her control was only just beginning to return and she didn't trust herself to not throw Hermione to the floor of this evil room and take her then and there.

Veela understood the language of sex far better than any other. The concept of one who had been stolen away from the veela's protective gaze without sex was not something that Fleur completely understood. She knew how a human would react, but the human within her body's control was so weak that it was all she could to to prevent herself from throwing Hermione to the floor. She tried, French the only language that would dare cross her lips, "Je vous ai cherché." _I looked for you. _Fleur stepped forward, her hands now resting on the gentle slope of Hermione's shoulders. Hermione looked up at her with wide and fearful eyes.

There did not seem to be much else to do in such a situation, and Fleur was certainly not one to pass up the opportunity to kiss her mate. She leaned down, her fingers trailing along Hermione's jaw, slowly turning from the sharp talons of the veela to the soft fingers of the veela, nails worried down to nearly nothing. Her lips pressed against the cold and chapped lips of her lover and Fleur exhaled quietly, pulling away to meet Hermione's dark-eyed stare with a piercing blue of her own. "Je vous ai trouvé."

_I found you._

Hermione flung her arms around Fleur's shoulders. She was shaking, and Fleur could feel her fear as though palpable as their breath fogging in the cold air of the room. "Fleur," Hermione breathed as Fleur wrapped her arms around her lover and steadfastly held on. Until Hermione wanted to let go, Fleru was not going to let her go. She clung to Hermione as though her very life depended on them never separating again.

Fleur knew she was crying, the tears were hot reminders flowing down her face as she stood, resolute, and holding Hermione to her. Hermione's voice seemed equally choked with sobs as she muttered into Fleur's sweater, "I was so scared. They took my wand. I couldn't fight, I couldn't do anything."

"We will get it back," Fleur promised, thanking Merlin that Hermione kept a spare. She was smarter than some of Fleur's muggleborn classmates, who did not have spares and had been caught without a wand in potentially dangerous situations. She reached down and tilted Hermione's chin upwards, her fingers playing along her lover's jawbone, unaware of how much of this simple touch she had missed during Hermione's brief absence. Her skin was chapped by the cold, and she was shaking, but Fleur loved every inch of Hermione Granger. "'arry and the others are looking for Park, and the aurors will probably arrest Jones too." Fleur continued, hoping that knowledge that her kidnappers were about to be arrested would brightedn Hermione's spirits.

Hermione nodded into Fleur's chest. "Good," Her voice was muffled in the silent room, trapped by the way that Hermione had cemented herself against Fleur's chest. Fleur twisted her body slightly trying to make it so that they could both be heard and understood. Veela did not need verbal communication as much as humans did, but it was still vital to humans and Fleur understood how important it would be to hear the rest of this conversation.

They stood there, their bodies pressed tightly together, fearful of letting go. To let go was to face the world once again, and now they were together, happy, reunited, and the world could not stand against them when they were together.

Hermione exhaled, her breath fogging the air between them as she spoke. Her words came off as pensive, "Fleur… can we go home?"

There was a silent, unspoken question that Fleur understood implicitly. _Do we need to stay here in this awful place? _

William would find them, he had always been good with them.

"To The Burrow?" Fleur asked, wondering if Hermione wanted to be back in the familiar and comfort of Molly Weasley's hope and hospitality.

Hermione shook her head, "No, home. Shell Cottage."

Fleur laughed then, for the first time in _days_. It felt good, almost cathartic.

Shell Cottage was a dowry, a gift from William's wealthy great aunt. She couldn't consider it home, she wasn't free to live there now that she and William had dissolved their union, or at least that was how she thought the law worked. She did not honestly know any more. Everything was changing so quickly and British wizarding law was convoluted at best.

She exhaled, tilting Hermione's chin upwards and saying earnestly, "It is not really my 'ome, 'ermione."

Hermione frowned, "I want to go there."

_I feel safe there._

"Alright." Fleur conceded and took Hermione's hands in her own. "Come with me, love."


	30. Act Three, Scene Change Four, Interlude

**Golden Haze, Act Three, Scene Change Four, Interlude  
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**AN: **What is this? Plot advancement interlude? I _never_ do that.

Short and sweet, real update potentially on Monday. :)**  
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Draco Malfoy kicked the wand away from Mrs. Park's still-paralyzed hand and let out a low whistle. He had known for many years that veela were not creatures to be trifled with over matters of the heart, but he had never before seen their handiwork. Swirling lines of magic lined the abandoned corridor, curling around the peeling paint and chipped concrete walls. It resonated with the power of the magic that had been used within its walls, creating an uncomfortable aura that cut through Draco's careful occluding. It was beautiful, and yet terrifying, the way that the spell signatures still lingered over every single one of the deep gashes that Fleur Delacour's magic had carved into the walls of this forsaken place.

He had seen magical signatures like this, during the war, but never had he been so close to one. The Dark Lord had not been entirely human, and even his magic had not clung so tenaciously to the very walls after he had left a room. No, the Dark Lord had been far fonder of instilling terror in _other_, more unsavory ways. Draco swallowed, swollen fingers bending down to feel Park's neck for a pulse. This woman had scarred him, taken away his ability to do anything other than sit, useless, in the Hospital Wing. Revenge came in the faint pulsing he could feel under her clammy skin.

Oh, he would make this woman suffer for the names and addresses of her compatriots.

Draco Malfoy had long ago fashioned himself to be a not very nice person. It had worked well for him in school, up to a point. That point had come to fruition last year as the war escalated and he had been ordered to do something that even to this day, he did not think he had the ability to do. To kill, to take a life so heartlessly, Draco did not have it in him to do such a thing.

His fingers rested on the icy coating of the cracked linoleum, next to Park's unconscious body. "She's alive," he confirmed quietly, breath fogging in the cold air as he spoke.

Delacour had used an elemental spell – far more advanced magic than was taught at Hogwarts, in a duel. His eyes narrowed, she had done it without preparation. To do such a spell required time and preparation, neither of which Delacour would have had in such a situation. He had known her to be a powerful witch, but had never thought of her as _that_ powerful.

_Just who was Fleur Delacour?_

He turned to the auror McKenzie, who was inspecting some of the gashes on the wall with interest. The auror had come with him, a former Death Eater could not be trusted alone with a prisoner, and was now proving to be a hindrance. Potter had sent him here as he and the others had gone off to arrest the ringleader Jones – he was to be the clean-up crew (fall-guy) should Delacour have actually killed someone.

Draco hated himself for going along with it, but this was where he would much rather be: getting the answers he could not get out of Potter or Weasley out of this room and the veela's magical signature that filled every inch of his vast space. It moved around him, testing, probing, and inquisitive like all magical signatures should be, and he let it inspect him until he was certain that it meant him no harm. Delacour was not the type to leave behind curses on a good day, but today, Draco reasoned, was a very bad day for her.

She had sent her patronus to Bill Weasley twice, the second one far weaker than the first, saying that she had found Granger. Draco was glad for that, glad that she was not dead or tortured again. He'd seen Granger like that once in the past, and he never wanted to repeat the experience.

The magic paused as Draco's thoughts turned dark and his left forearm burned with the memory. He allowed himself a moment of weakness, fingers squeezing the marred skin on his forearm and hissing low in pain. He was forever scarred by the folly of his youth.

A thought occurred to Draco as he tried to force the phantom pains out of his mind, veela were odd creatures, mysteriously powerful one minute, and powerless the next. There was no predicting how using magic would reflect on the veela's magical core. Some found it to be an endless and untapped resource, others found it draining. Draco's lips tugged upwards as he saw the seven pointed star etched in the wall just above Park. _Delacour is of the latter,_ he thought. No one could shrink a shielding spell that large and to that size and not be drained.

"I am impressed," McKenzie admitted, kneeling down next to Draco and rolling the woman over. "Her paralytic spell is quite advanced."

Draco nodded; he had never seen one with such long-standing effects. Even the more advanced ones they learned in school only lasted long enough for you to get away from an enemy.

_Curiouser and Curiouser._ Draco recalled a book from his childhood, the line still fit the mood of the place. "Do you want to arrest her?" he asked.

"I was thinking that we should," McKenzie agreed. "I'll need you to leave before I do it, though. Citizen's arrest is popular in America, but certainly not here."

Draco tried to look offended, "I'll… just head off then."

McKenzie was rifling through Mrs. Park's pockets. He'd pulled out several items of various interest to Draco – cigarettes, a plastic-looking cylinder with a red tip that McKenzie called a 'lighter', a sneakoscope, and a second wand that Draco recognized almost instantly.

"That's Granger's!" he said, reaching down to pick it up. He had seen her wand many times, and knew the way that it had a deep scratch along one side that could not be replaced from a fight they'd gotten into during third year. He twirled it between his fingers, feeling Granger's magical energy still coming strong from the wand. It had not been out of her hands very long.

"Why would Park have Granger's wand?" McKenzie asked, taking it from Draco and turning it over in his hands.

Draco Malfoy was no fool. He did not suffer them lightly. He knew why Park would have Granger's wand, and he was impressed. To have her wand would implicate her and her alone in the kidnapping – Jones would be in the clear, even though he was the one who had taken Hermione initially. It would be her word against his, and it would not stand in court without evidence that he was almost certain Park would not give.

_My, what clever villains we have, _Draco thought, staring off into space and wondering how on earth they were going to catch Jones in the act now.


	31. Act Three, Scene Seven

**Golden Haze, Act Three, Scene Seven**

**AN:** I'm looking for someone to help me go through acts two and three and fix them up for posting both here, LJ and AO3 before I continue on to the fourth and final act. My beta for the first act is unable to do the next two acts, so I need some help! I know that there are bits of them that do need some serious revision, and would love some help! Drop me a PM and let me know. :]

This is the final chapter of Act Three, the conclusion of the story will be Park's trial and the surrounding events.

I am so grateful to everyone who has stuck around and has enjoyed reading this story as much as I have enjoyed writing it. You guys mean the world to me. To everyone who is overseas from where I live in the US, thank you for reading my story. I look at my statistics tracker on occasion and it is SO COOL to see that people from all over the world read my stories. Thank you, to all of you especially.

**Music of the story: Wild Nothing **

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Fleur Delacour sagged onto her lover's shoulders as soon as they both materialized just outside the picket fence and worn gate that enclosed the yard of Shell Cottage. There was a fresh dusting of snow on the ground and the stones in the walkway were slick with ice that had formed with the gathering night. Fleur felt weak at the knees as she glanced nervously around the yard, staring at the knotted forms of leafless trees and slumbering shrubs. There were no enemies here, no one that she considered to be an enemy even knew where _here_ was. Her breath fogged in the air before her and she leaned heavily on Hermione's shoulder, magical exhaustion forcing her pace slow and her movements sluggish.

"I 'ad not thought that it would take so much to apparate 'ere," she admitted, burying her nose in Hermione's hair and struggling to support her own weight. Her footing was unsure on the walk and she stumbled, cursing herself for letting the veela take what it wanted out of her magical core without thought as to how Fleur-it's-_their_ body would even _function_ for several days after such a great magical exertion.

Hermione small smile was the first that she'd shared with Fleur in what seemed like years, and Fleur's heart rejoiced to see it. She shifted, so that Fleur's arm was more fully around her shoulders, and reached up with freezing fingers to grasp Fleur's hand. "You overdid it," she said quietly, her voice a little hoarse.

Fleur shrugged, feeling as though she could not at all be blamed for her actions and Hermione giggled at the carefully blank look that Fleur had schooled her features into in the split second she had needed in order to get Hermione to laugh.

Merlin, her laugh was like music. Fleur sighed happily, content to lean against Hermione in the growing night and cold, knowing that getting inside was important and choosing to ignore it. Her shivering was not created of the cold, but rather of fatigue. She held herself still, knowing that tiredness and cold were not nearly as important as thismoment in time between them two of them. Their souls had been forced apart in the most violent of circumstances and Fleur had felt the pain of the bond that was still so new, tested in ways that it was never meant to experience.

Hermione stopped moving then, and Fleur raised her hand weakly knowing the wards would allow her entrance without a fuss. She could feel the magical barrier of protective spells wrap around herself and Hermione like a cloak of power and warmth. Hermione's breath steamed in the air before them as Fleur pulled her carefully up the steps and onto the front stoop of Shell Cottage.

"I thought it was supposed to be warmer, by the shore," Hermione muttered, pressing herself closer to Fleur, her hand resting carefully on the small of Fleur's back. Fleur could feel the warmth of Hermione's hand through her thin jacket, the heat of it a burning reminder that she was not the perfect being that she was long-suspected of being. She, like anyone else, could fall victim of a touch, a gentle caress, a loving gesture. Hermione's hand resting so innocently on her back made Fleur feel weak at her knees, and Fleur found herself leaning into the touch as she hid behind the curtain of her hair as she unlocked the door to the house.

She did not want Hermione to see the blush that had blossomed across her cheeks after such an innocent gesture of affection.

Shell Cottage was cold as Fleur placed her hand wearily on the door handle and pushed it open, tucking the key back into her pocket in a practiced motion. Hermione was half a step behind her, still half-supporting her as Fleur's vision began to blur around the edges. She was tired, dead tired, the spells and all of the cross-country apparation had finally caught up to her and the fatigue was beginning to set in.

Hermione pushed the door shut behind them and Fleur wordlessly handed Hermione her wand and gestured towards the fireplace. As she collapsed on the sofa, she found herself desperately wishing that Hermione would be able to use her wand despite its unique core. She remembered hating it, hating that it had to be unique in order for her to even have a true match within a wand. She had hated that her grandmere had been right about something else and had insisted upon as much until the wand was placed in her hand and bright blue sparks had shot out of the end. The chances that Hermione would be able to get her wand to create much other than sparks was debatable, but Fleur was too tired to move and Hermione seemed to be doing alright for just being able to create sparks.

She had balled up newspaper and shoved it under the two logs that had been resting in the fireplace, only slightly burned from the night before. Fleur watched with interested eyes as Hermione lit the newspaper on fire with one of the simple igniting spells (which did little more than create sparks) that was part of the first year curriculum at Hogwarts. Her curly hair fell back and over her shoulders as Hermione sat back on her heels and watched the flames grow for a few long moments before she turned to once again face Fleur.

"_Merci,_" Fleur said, her eyes already half closed as the room began to warm.

Hermione stood and crossed the room in a few short steps, settling down next to Fleur on the couch and pushing herself under Fleur's arm and resting her head on the rough fabric of Fleur's jacket. She fidgeted, getting comfortable, before she was finally still.

Though the movement came awkwardly, Fleur craned her neck downwards and place a gentle kiss on the top of Hermione's head. The curls there tickled her nose as she stayed there, her lips pressed against this warm and breathing body – her worse fears once again adverted.

"Mn," Hermione's contented sigh reverberated through Fleur's chest as Fleur let her head fall back down onto the sofa's arm. She wrapped her arm around Hermione's shoulders and held her tightly, afraid of ever letting her go again. She couldn't lose her like that, she did not think that her body could withstand such an event.

The fire cracked loudly, its flames had now grown tall and merry, but Fleur's thoughts had turned dark. Veela did not handle loss well. Fleur had seen it when her grandmere had been coping with the death of her own mother when Fleur was very young. Fleur could not even begin to think of how she would have responded had she truly lost Hermione to Jones' evil plan.

_I would have murdered today, _she thought, watching the flames. _And I would have done it without prejudice or fear of retribution. _

Hermione's breathing had come to be in time with her own, and they lay there in silence, lost in their own thoughts for several minutes before Fleur finally forced away her dark thoughts and tried to begin at the beginning. She shifted, wanting to see Hermione's face as she spoke, but was met with a limp and immobile body that was apparently quite comfortable. "Don't move," Hermione grumbled her arms tight around Fleur's hips.

An exasperated (or perhaps overly-dramatic) sigh escaped her lips and Fleur ceased moving. She found herself almost a loss for words, but she knew what she had to say. Her fingers found their way into the thick curls at the top of Hermione's head, tangling themselves in the hair there and making little circles along her lover's scalp. "'ermione, Je suis désolé," She said quietly, her voice half-shaking. She owed Hermione far more of an apology than this, she knew that she had to tell her everything, to explain it fully. The pain of doing so was not worth Hermione not knowing.

She looked away, back into the flames, searching their depths for the courage that she had not lacked that morning, but now found herself without. Hermione's breathing had become far less pronounced, as though she was listening intently to what Fleur had to say. Fleur bit her tongue, pushing her fear away, "I 'ave told them something that it was not my place to say."

Hermione made a dismissive noise, settling herself more comfortably on Fleur's chest. "They would have found out anyway."

"Despite that, I was wrong," Fleur began to move her fingers in the same soothing pattern in Hermione's hair once more, breathing quietly and calmly. She could get lost in the sensation of Hermione's hair flowing so gently through her fingers, it would be so easy to just stay like this and forget her troubles. "Forgive me," she murmured.

Fleur's hand pulled away from Hermione's head as Hermione sat up; fixing Fleur with an intense brown-eyed stare that Fleur could not bring herself to look away from. There was so much hurt written in those eyes, hurt that Fleur did not know how to fix. She opened her mouth to speak, reaching out to pull Hermione close to her once again, but Hermione batted her hand away. "There is nothing to forgive, my entire social network has been destroyed. At Christmas no less," Hermione gave a short, almost hysterical laugh as Fleur sat numbly under her. There was nothing that she could say to that. She was shocked that Hermione would put it in such a way. "I'll be alright."

"You should not be being that way." Fleur said, reaching out once again, this time her fingers merely grazed upon Hermione's forehead, smoothing the unruly curls away and out of her still angry eyes. Hermione's skin was hot under her touch, and Fleur was filled with worry that Hermione would grow sick after being in the cold for so long.

Her lower lip stuck out, and Hermione leaned into Fleur's touch ever so slightly as she asked, "What way?"

Blue eyes twinkling, Fleur trailed her fingers down Hermione's cheek, pausing to ever so gently to pull Hermione's slight frown upwards into a half-smile. Hermione grinned despite herself then, and Fleur smiled back at her. "You should not be feeling sorry for yourself. It is not noble, not my 'ermione."

The Hermione that Fleur knew was brave and unafraid of anything the world would throw at her. She would not let something like this beat her.

Fleur watched as Hermione raised a hand to wipe away tears that were forming at the corners of her eyes. She reached up shaking hands and smoothed them away, pulling Hermione's hands away from her cheeks and sitting up slightly, pressing a kiss against Hermione's forehead.

She lingered there, enjoying the way that Hermione smelled, her lips trying to pour every emotion that was running through her mind back into Hermione. She wanted Hermione to truly see her worth, her value to Fleur, to Harry and the others. She was so important, so loving and so wonderful; Fleur could not find the words in English, or in French, to express how much she loved Hermione.

Fleur did not think that she had ever been able to.

It was not just being veela that made Fleur uneasy in self-expression. To describe how important one's mate was to a veela required a far deeper understanding of veela culture than Fleur had ever willingly subjected herself to. She had been so young then, and so full of hatred for the long looks and the flabbergasted boys (and girls) by her mere presence. She had not wanted to listen to her mother and grandmere as they tried to tell her what would later come to define her life. Veela do not die when their mate does, they instead waste away into nothingness. She did not want that, she had to protect Hermione, even if she'd been flummoxed by her need to do it fairly badly up to this point.

As Fleur pulled away from Hermione's forehead, Hermione whispered, "I… Fleur, I'm sorry." She straightened, meeting Fleur's eyes evenly with an intense stare that rivaled Fleur's own. They sat there, resolutely refusing to look away from each other, as Hermione's emotions played across her face. Finally, Hermione continued, breaking their impromptu staring contest to look away and at the fire, "This has been too much to take."

Her teeth sank into the inside of her lip as Fleur thought about how best to respond. Hermione wanted something that she could not give her, something that Fleur did not think anyone could until Hermione was ready to receive it. Acceptance came in dribs and drabs, it was not all encompassing – Fleur was living, breathing proof of that fact. For Hermione to accept what happened to her, it would take time that Hermione was not giving it now.

Fleur reached out, and grasped Hermione's hands – willing the far-too-enthusiastic at Hermione being in her lap – part of her brain to kindly shut up and let this moment happen without the distraction of an overactive libido. "I understand," she said, knowing as she did so how lame and unsupportive it truly sounded.

"Do you?" Hermione's hands did not twitch away from Fleur's, but she did raise a skeptical eyebrow. Fleur inclined her head to the side, as if asking Hermione to elaborate. Silent communication through body language came naturally to veela, something that Fleur was grateful of, as Hermione continued: "My parents asked me to leave, and I try to go back to them and I get bloody kidnapped and shoved in a cold room by myself for two miserable days." She gave that same, almost hysterical laugh once more, and looked down. "At least I didn't get tortured this time."

Fleur's mind stopped then, and the only thing she heard was the rush of blood to her ears. Even the merry crackling of the fire faded away as she felt herself grow angrier and angrier. Her hands were shaking, still clenched around Hermione's own, handing limply in her lap. She would not let this happen, not again.

She still remembered the last time, full of fear and not knowing and desperate longing that she could barely suppress. She'd failed to protect Hermione that time too, but the situation was of Hermione's own creation then. Fleur had never been an option for protection, not like this time. This time the onus of protection of her mate had fallen on her and she had not risen to the occasion, instead choosing to let Hermione walk into a trap with no escape plan.

"If anyone is responsible, it is me," Fleur said, her voice shaking and low. "I 'ave created this… what is the expression… _mess_ in the first place."

Hermione shook her head violently. "You could not have known, Fleur. It just happened, I'm just grateful it was not a more harrowing experience." She tilted her head to the side, staring at Fleur intensely, "Besides, you rescued me."

"Ah… ma petite," Fleur leaned forward, resting her forehead against Hermione's warm brow. She felt almost too warm then, and Fleur could not suppress the worry, once again, that Hermione would grow ill from being left alone in that terrible house.

Hermione pulled away, and Fleur watched as she uncertainly chewed on her lip, staring off into the distance, at some point past Fleur's shoulder. Her eyes were vacant, as if caught in a terrible place and unable to escape its grasp. "Sometimes, the memories are too much."

Long flingers that ended with well-worried nails came to rest on Hermione's cheek. Fleur knew in that moment that she was Hermione's anchor to reality, a beacon that would bring her out of the memories of that dark time in her past. "Look at me," she whispered. She let her fingers fall from Hermione's cheek to wrap around her lover's shoulders and pull her into a tight hug. "This was not your fault," she whispered fiercely into Hermione's ear.

Shaking arms wrapped around her and Fleur allowed herself to simply listen to Hermione's breathing for a few moments. Hermione seemed to be calming down, her hands had stopped desperately trying to grab onto the back of Fleur's jacket and had simply relaxed, pressing flat against Fleur's back once more. "I know that," Hermione muttered into Fleur's shoulder. "I just… I just can't move past it."

No one was asking her to. As much as Fleur longed for what had transpired during the past two days, and that horrible time last year, it had happened. There was no denying it, and healing passage of time was the only thing that would help Hermione to truly move past it. The constant emotional stress of the previous year, and then everything that Fleur had inflicted upon her this year, they were finally catching up.

Fleur felt full of guilt that her presence in Hermione's life had caused the younger woman so much strife, but she knew full well that Hermione would not have it any other way. The trick was forcing herself to not think too critically about the fact that she had caused Hermione some of the mental strife.

Pushing herself doubt away, Fleur chose her words carefully: "'ermione, il sera bien… give it time."

That seemed to cheer Hermione up, and she shifted once more, back and away from Fleur onto her own corner of the couch. She was unbuttoning her jacket and shrugging it off her shoulders, eyes still fixed very intensely on Fleur. As she pulled off the scarf she'd been wearing and shoved it down one of her jacket's sleeves, she asked, "Do they hate me?"

"'oo?" Fleur looked up, still unsure of her own internal body temperature and her own tiredness. She had half a mind to fall into bed with her clothes still on and simply worry about undressing in the morning. But the room, as the fire's heat mingled and connected with the heating charms that had been cast over all rooms of the cottage when they'd first moved in, had grown warm and she felt sleepy and comfortable.

Fleur reached up for the metal zipper of her jacket, pushing her hair over her shoulders and out of her way, never looking away from Hermione, her face questing for clarification on Hermione's previous statement.

The jacket was now folded neatly and resting on the floor by the foot of the sofa. Hermione's feet were curled up underneath her body and her hands rested once more in her lap. Fleur pulled off her own jacket and tossed it towards the coat rack by the door. It missed, and fell halfheartedly to rest on the base of Fleur's discarded boots.

"Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. I'm quite the home wreaker," Hermione clarified, uncharacteristic biting sarcasm cutting into her tone like a knife.

Realization dawned in Fleur's eyes, and she suppressed the urge to tell Hermione that changing the subject like that was a surefire way to never process what had happened to her. Tonight, however, she was simply too tired, and would let it slide. "They understood," she said simply.

There was not much more to say than that. They had respected Fleur's decision and the fact that she truly had had no choice in the matter. She had been honest with them, telling them that she wished that she had been able to give both Hermione and herself the choice, but that fate was not on their side. She had hated herself for this curse of her heritage for so long that it seemed almost like a blessing to have someone truly understand (at least to some extent) how difficult it was to be faced with something so daunting as a mate at such a young age.

"What?" Hermione demanded, leaning forward, surprise clearly covering her face.

Fleur looked down, embarrassed suddenly at the fact that she was keeping her answers short. She was so warm and comfortable, all she wanted to do was go to sleep, and this conversation was important, but also very long. She knew she was putting it badly. "They did not seem too angry. Sad is a better word for it, I think. William is their first son." Fleur knew she was putting it badly, but Hermione's face was full of sudden comprehension, so she continued on. "'e 'as obligations, yes, but the situation is …" Fleur paused, searching for the correct word in English to appropriately describe how Mr. and Mrs. Weasley would feel about what was happening. "Complex," She settled on.

"But…"

"'ermione, they understand that I 'ave no choice." Fleur paused, pursing her lips. She couldn't think, she was so tired. Words were coming to mind in both English and French, a complex mix that her exhausted brain could not make sense of anymore. "There is an expression in English… comment-dit-on… _sexualité monocible_… hummm." It did not sound right, but close enough for Hermione to somewhat understand her point. "Regardless, it is a singular sexuality, one above all others."

"Single-target sexuality?" Hermione offered. Had she not been so tired, Fleur would have laughed at it being phrased that way, it sounded so _clinical_. Not to mention the expression was so wonderfully _Hermione_ that Fleur's face blossomed into a broad smile despite her tiredness. Laughter would come later, after she'd slept, but for now she would simply enjoy the inanity of the statement, her grin matching Hermione's own.

Fleur tapped her finger on her chin, "Ah, oui. That is what a veela suffers from. Molly and Arthur, they know it to be something that I cannot fight." She looked across the sofa at Hermione, her bangs half obscuring her face. This was the moment, the moment that she had known would come eventually, where she spelled out to Hermione just how incredibly important she was to Fleur's very existence, not to mention her mental fortitude. "That I do not want to fight."

A gentle blush blossomed across Hermione's face and Fleur felt triumphant. She reached out, grasping for Hermione's hand, and pulled Hermione forward back into her arms, content with the warmth and comfort of Hermione's body pressed against her own. "Fleur… I…" Hermione's voice was flustered, breaking ever so slightly as she pressed herself more fully into Fleur's arms.

"What is it?" Fleur asked, her fingers trailing intricate patterns along Hermione's back.

Hesitant lips brushed against her own, and Fleur understood perfectly well what Hermione had wanted. Her tiredness did not seem to matter anymore, her mate wanted something that only Fleur could give her, and Fleur fully embraced the challenge.

She cupped Hermione's cheeks with both hands, fingers brushing against soft skin, still damp from tears, and began to kiss her properly. Hermione shifted, pulling herself more comfortably into Fleur's lap and settling herself down, her legs straddling Fleur's hips; their lips never breaking.

Fleur pushed her tongue forward, past the barrier of her own lips and into Hermione's mouth. This was the part she liked the best, the ownership and willing this battle. Hermione always relented, allowed Fleur to do what she wanted, before taking her own afterwards. Fleur moved her tongue in and out, pushing forward again and again, doing everything she could to elicit a reaction out of Hermione.

Hermione's hands tangled into her hair, her hips shifted closer to Fleur, and finally, finally, she gave a little groan.

Her attack ebbed then, her hands moving more languidly over Hermione's back, playing with the hem of her sweater. A part of Fleur's mind wondered if it was too soon, if she could take it off without startling Hermione, but as her fingers trailed against the skin at the small of Hermione's back, Fleur realized that they both wanted this. She pulled away from the kiss, wordlessly asking for permission before she did anything.

"Please," Hermione's voice was breathy, and Fleur pulled her sweater off and over her head. It landed in a heap on the floor, and Hermione's shirt was quick to follow.

Fleur's reverent fingers played across the skin on Hermione's stomach, on her back, brushing against sensitive places she'd found through careful exploration. Her lips found Hermione's once more, and this kiss this time was dominated by Hermione's demanding tongue.

Their movements became more frantic then. Fleur pushed Hermione's bra up and out of the way, her fingers rolling over soft breasts and pert nipples, eliciting another groan out of Hermione. She lingered there, touching and gently caressing Hermione's breasts, knowing that they should probably stop. Hermione's touch was electric on her skin and she knew that she could not stop.

Fleur's lips moved away from Hermione's, burning a trail of hot and wet kisses onto her neck and shoulders. Her head dipped downwards, lips brushing against soft skin, their bodies moving as one. Hermione's head was thrown back, and as Fleur's lips found their goal. Hermione gasped, her hands pressing Fleur closer to her chest.

Fleur took this as a sign that she should continue, her hand pulling at the button on Hermione's jeans, desperate to touch what it was that she had so craved. Her lips had found the place on Hermione's breast that made her groan with anticipation and satisfaction so long as Fleur's lips lingered there. Fleur had other ideas for that spot tonight, biting, sucking, her lips never ceasing their movement as her hand tried desperately to make the stiff denim of Hermione's pants cooperate with her wishes.

From the back entrance, where they did their laundry when they were both living in the cottage together, Fleur heard a bang. She paused, her hand frozen halfway into Hermione's jeans, lovebite half-formed on Hermione's breast. William's voice cut though the startled silence. "Fleur? Are you here?"

"Merde," Fleur mumbled into Hermione's breast, her hand reluctantly withdrawing from the front of Hermione's jeans. Hermione groaned in frustration, reluctantly pulling her hands from Fleur's hair and smoothing it somewhat flat and straight once more.

Fleur leaned forward, her breath hot in Hermione's ear and whispered, "We will continue this later, get dressed, I will stall him."

"I…" Hermione began, one hand already reaching for her discarding shirt.

Feeling strangely energized by the whole exchange, Fleur placed a finger over Hermione's lips and whispered, "Just do it." Her eyes hardened, and Fleur found herself staring at Hermione critically, trying to articulate the feeling that she could not shake in words. She sounded paranoid, like the overprotective and jealous lovers of her storybooks as a child; she was right though. She knew why she did not want this to happen, and honesty, sometimes, was the best policy. "I do not want you around 'im right now."

Hermione pulled her bra down over her breasts and hissed, "It's just Bill."

Fleur gave her a warning look and Hermione buttoned her jeans. She leaned forward, kissing Hermione's cheek before standing and hastily crossing through the doorway that lead to the kitchen. "William, I am in the kitchen," she called, opening a cupboard and pulling out a small vial of pepper-up potion. She pulled out the stopper and drank the dose, knowing that her steaming ears would be the least of her problems in a few minutes.

The potion made her feel even more awake, despite it's awful taste, and Fleur set the empty vial in the sink.

William opened the door from the back room, his red hair wild and his eyes shining unnaturally in the dim light of the kitchen. Fleur moved over to the wall and twisted the lamp, coaxing the flame to be brighter. "Ah," he said, smiling appreciatively at her when the room grew lighter, "Did you find her?"

Fleur sank into one of their mismatched kitchen chairs, staring off into space for a moment before responding. "Oui, she is resting."

William nodded, his face dark as he came to sit down across the table from her. He set his wand on the table, as if considering it. When Fleur glanced it suspiciously, he flicked it towards the kitchen's hearth, igniting the logs that still rested there from several days ago. As the fire grew, Fleur felt the tension start to ebb between them. She gave William a small smile, glancing at his haggard appearance and waiting for him to explain what had happened.

Her best friend looked down at his hands for several minutes, wand still hanging limply from his index and middle finger. He spoke at length, pain clearly evident in his voice. "I have some bad news. Jones has arranged for someone else to take the fall for him."

"What? No!" Hermione had appeared in the doorway, fully dressed and fury clouding her face.

Fleur cursed silently, wishing that Hermione had _listened_ to what she had said. She had not thought that this would happen, that Jones might actually get away with the crime he had committed. Anger rose from deep within her, not at Hermione, but at the whole situation.

It simply was not _fair._

"I'm sorry Hermione," William said, looking up to meet Hermione's eyes with a sad expression of his own. "There's nothing we can do but let the aurors try to build a case based on what Park has to say."

Ideas had begun to circle in Fleur's mind. Dark plans that she could not voice out loud, plans that she should not even be thinking of in the first place. She was only sure of one thing, and that was that Jones would be brought to justice.

She ran a hand through her hair, trying to think, "There are… some things."

William raised his eyebrows, "That are illegal."

Sighing, Fleur shook her head. She was veela, she did not answer to the same rules that normal humans did. The forces that drove her internally would never compute with a human, as much as she hated to admit it. This was the one instance where she was grateful for her heritage, because it would allow her to _not _think like a human on this matter. She did not want to, anyway. She wanted to kill Jones, to tear him limb from limb.

Fleur placed both hands on the table, squaring them neatly and schooling her expression into one of perfect icy fury. "_William_, I refuse to allow this… this monster who 'urt us so badly, to walk free." She glanced, blue eyes harsh and angry, towards Hermione, and then back to William. "They will not know. It will seem fair and just."

William threw his hands up in the air. "I don't want to know."

"_Bon._" Fleur agreed. She folded her arms across her chest, "I will not tell you." She knew she was acting childish, but then again, so was he. Despite her reputation, Fleur Delacour was perfectly able to act like a child when it suited her.

They stayed like that, glaring at each other for several long and drawn out minutes. Hermione was oddly silent, hovering awkwardly in the doorway, her brown eyes flicking nervously from Fleur to William and back again. Fleur wondered what she was thinking.

William's chair made a loud scraping noise against the rough floor of the kitchen. "I'm going to go to bed," he announced, his voice losing its hard edge as he spoke. Fleur supposed that it was because he did not feel like he could make any headway with her views on the matter of Jones getting his due tonight, and she was grateful that he was not pushing his luck.

He stood fluidly, and reached into his jacket pocket, as though searching for something, "Malfoy found your wand on Park, 'mione, here."

Hermione reached out and took the proffered wand, her fingers wrapping around it with a degree of familiarity and gratitude that Fleur rarely saw cross Hermione's face. Hermione liked the unknown, so to take comfort in something that was so familiar was a luxury that she rarely afforded herself. "Thank you, Bill, for bringing it back to me."

He smiled at her, and Fleur felt the veela rage. She knew to not be threatened, William was a friend above all else. He would never willingly hurt Hermione.

Hermione stared down at the wand in her hands, Fleur watching with interested eyes as she did so. The wand was worn, but obviously well cared for and well used.

She did not want to intrude on this private moment of reunion.

After a moment more of silence, Fleur realized something, and an idea began to from in her mind. She stood, pushing her chair away from the table and allowing her fingers to gently encircle Hermione's wrist, "Come."

"Fleur – what?"

Fleur smiled at Hermione's confused expression. She looked adorable with her face all screwed up and her eyes full of question. Fleur could not deny her anything in a moment like that. "Come with me," Fleur said, "I want to show you something."

Fleur reached out, her fingers brushing Hermione's cheek. The skin there was warm to the touch, despite the coolness of the room. She smiled, allowing her fingers to fall down along Hermione's shoulder and then to rest on her upper arm. She lingered there, enjoying the contact and the knowing that Hermione was back here, and that she was safe.

_How you have stolen my heart_, she thought, letting go and turning away. She stepped forward, full of the confidence that Hermione would follow her. This had been the moment that she had been planning to happen at Christmas, on the eve of the holy night, but it had been delayed by the horribleness of the previous few days.

In her satchel, tossed haphazardly over the back of the sofa, was a small box. Fleur had seen its contents at a small store in Hogsmeade in September and had bought it on a whim, not entirely sure when – or even if - she would find cause to give it. Things had been shaky at that point – Fleur herself so full of doubt.

She had found herself, and Hermione had become so much a part of her that she did not think that anyone could willingly ever take that bond that they shared away from her. They had become one, bonded on All Hallows, even though it was not the time or the place for it. Veela bonding was strong, and their bond was among the strongest that Fleur had ever felt. Still, it was young yet, and like all good things, it would take time to mature.

Things were better now, and the gift could be freely given without fear of consequence.

Fleur drew Hermione back into the sitting room. She let go of Hermione's hand in the middle of the room, standing before the hearth, and crossed to fetch the gift out of her bag. She would have used a summoning charm, but she did not trust her magic in her fatigued state, it was not worth the risk of potentially destroying such a precious thing.

The box was a little worn at the corners, Fleur had had it wrapped at the store and had carried it with her ever since. She did not feel ashamed of her shabby present, however, because the contents were safe inside the box. Her fingers still subconsciously fluffed the squashed bow and tried to smooth out a large crease from one corner as she pulled it from her satchel.

She held it out to Hermione, her eyes shining with unspoken intent. Veela did not give gifts lightly. The act of giving had never come easily to Fleur. She felt strangely obligated to do it by the way that wizarding society had become so gift-oriented, especially around the holidays. She hated the feeling that she _had _to prove someone else's worth to her by giving them a meaningless gift that would probably never be appreciated fully.

This was different. This was a gift to a mate, an unspoken promise, not to mention a truly necessary protection.

Hermione took the box with hesitant fingers, her eyes no doubt taking in the battered nature of the packaging. Fleur knew Hermione was not one to judge based on outward appearance, but she could not stop the gentle flush that grew across her cheeks. "What is this?" Hermione asked, fingering the ribbon with a questioning look on her face.

Fleur smiled, "C'est un cadeaux." Sometimes she still found things easier to explain in French than in English. At Hermione's confused look, she added, "You missed Noel."

"Ah." Hermione said, still fingering the box, as if afraid to open it.

It was then that Fleur realized it. This was the first gift that she had ever given Hermione. The blush that had grown across her cheeks grew darker and Fleur wished that she could take back her gift – it was not worth of being the first gift she had ever given to her mate. She could do so much better.

She swallowed her pride and her fear, and nodded – cheeks still burning – urging Hermione to open the box, "Well, open it."

Hermione's fingers trembled as she pulled the still-squashed ribbon and let it fall to the floor. The box opened to reveal another box, this one far more ornate. It was made out of a soft wood that was easy to carve, but it depicted the scene from _The Odyssey _where Odysseus had himself tied to the mast of his ship to hear the siren's song. Fleur felt like a siren around Hermione on occasion, drawing her in and enticing her to her doom, it had seemed appropriate at the time. "Fleur… I…" Hermione fingered the edges of the box, setting the box down on the floor beside the discarded ribbon.

The box rested in her hands for a moment, the dark wood standing a stark contrast to Hermione's pale fingers. Hermione lifted the top and Fleur could see her eyes widen.

Inside the ornately carved wooden box was a simple pendant on a silver chain. On one side was a compass that Fleur had carefully charmed to always point towards her being. On the other side there was a watch face and a space to put a photograph. It had seemed so wonderfully practical as well as perfect for someone like Hermione, who did not wear a lot of jewelry when Fleur had first seen it in the store; she'd had no choice but to buy it.

Hermione lifted it out of the box, the chain wrapping around her fingers as she commented, "It doesn't point north."

"It points to me, no matter where I am." Fleur explained, smiling at the flush that had blossomed across Hermione's cheeks.

Hermione stepped forward, her arms snaking out and wrapping around Fleur's waist. She buried her nose in Fleur's chest and mumbled, "This is wonderful. Thank you." Fleur was surprised when Hermione stepped back from their embrace looking slightly dejected, "My gift to you is at the Weasley's."

Fleur laughed, she had been thinking that something was genuinely wrong. "Then we will 'ave to get it tomorrow, non?" she asked, raising a questioning eyebrow and reaching out to draw Hermione back into her arms.

"Yes," Hermione agreed. She sighed, obviously frustrated, "I feel bad though, I would have wanted you to have it tonight."

"Then give me something else instead," Fleur's finger snaked under Hermione's chin. Her eyes were half-lidded as she pressed her lips against Hermione's. This was not a kiss like the one that they had shared earlier, languid and comfortable, no this kiss was full of the passion that they had yet to express for each other.

Fleur reached down, untangling the chain of her gift from Hermione's fingers and pulled away from the kiss ever so briefly to slip it over Hermione's head, admiring how it landed, resting in the hollow of her breasts, rising and falling with Hermione's every ragged breath.

Hermione leaned forward, bringing their lips together once more, her eyes flashing dark with passion that Fleur found herself meeting full-on.

She could stay like this forever. She could rise above the problem of her past and her heritage if it meant that she could have this woman for an eternity.

_It's only forever, not that long at all,_ Fleur thought, pulling Hermione closer to her.

**End Act Three**

_Bonus points for Fleur's quote at the end recognition and subsequent squee. :D_


	32. Intermission Three

**Golden Haze - Intermission Three**

AN: So who wants a one-shot sequel all about Victoire and Teddy? I know I do. Woooo drunk posting!

Look forward to a new story by me during the month of July that stars our favorite ladies. I've entered into a festival and once I get the go-ahead to post there, I will do so and here a few days later. The prompts are 'history lessons' and 'first times' and I've set it during the Triwizard Tournament. Just a little something for you guys to look forward to. :)

Also a huge thanks to Crosswood, who helped me make this sound not quite so terrible.

* * *

A card that accompanied a gift given at Christmas (actually several days after due to some unpleasantness) from one Hermione Granger to her Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor, one Fleur Delacour. It has been folded many times, and is always in the pocket of its recipient.

_Fleur,_

_I saw these when I was out with Ginny and thought of you. I know that you have already given me so much, but this is one thing that I do not think that you, one who has everything, possesses. Their light may pale in comparison to how radiantly you shine, but they are like you in that respect. Their many faces stand testament to how truly wonderful and unique you are, my love._

_Yours, always,_

_Hermione_

x

A letter received by Mrs. Ariel Hopson, senior staff editor of the Daily Prophet. Promptly relayed to her direct superior, Olsen Archer, editor in chief of the newspaper:

_To the editor_

_With the imminent signing of the new anti-discrimination law, we, as readers, feel that it is our duty to congratulate your newspaper on your excellent coverage on the injustices that are being perpetuated by the Ministry of Magic. In delaying the passage of such a law, numerous individuals were forced to register their blood status with the Department of Magical Records. While it is understood why the law was delayed, your paper's dedication to making sure that the issue never fell far from the thread of political conversation was most admirable._

_As lead writers of that law, we thank you for keeping our work in the public eye. _

_With the trial of one of the conspirators - one who brought yet another injustice within British wizarding society into the limelight - soon to begin, we can only hope that your continued coverage will continue to be stellar._

M + G, concerned citizens

Printed January 10th, 1999

x

Two newspaper articles:

**Trial For Anti-Magical Creature Activist Commences Today**

**Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent**

To ignore this story would be an insult to so many of the wizarding world that this reporter has been called out of her comfortable retirement to report on it. (Ms. Skeeter personally requested this assignment. – E.D.)

Gwen Harper was born in Yorkshire to a muggle family of modest means. She attended a primary school not far from her home, as per the muggle public education system, and excelled in school. It came as a great shock when her parents discovered with the arrival of her Hogwarts letter that she was a witch.

Still, as good parents, they sent their daughter off to school. They did not know how lucky they were; her time for schooling fell in between two great wars against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and their ignorance no doubt saved them much heartbreak and angst over their daughter's safety.

Upon graduation, Gwen Harper took a small time job at the Ministry, working in the file room of the Department of Magical Records. It was there that she would meet the man who would later be implicated in her fall from grace. Jones, his true identity still unknown, approached her. He asked her to seek out information on old families, sources close to Ms. Harper say; to look into their lineage and see if there was anything that they could truly say made them superior.

The only thing that she found was the occasional relative that was more than human. While it is commonplace for those of the various magical races to intermarry and have children in the wizarding world, Ms. Harper had no such frame of reference. In the muggle world there are no creatures who share the same sentient capacities as humans, let alone ones readily available to fall in love with. Jones lead Ms. Harper to believe that what she was truly seeing was bestiality that had to be stopped.

That was when things began to spiral out of control. Jones formed a band of followers, and after the smoke had cleared and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had perished at the hand of the angst-laden Harry Potter, he began his attacks.

At first they were just threats, clever bits of charm work sent to anyone and everyone that Ms. Harper could find - her record books pinpointing those that had even a trace of magical creature blood in them. Sources point to the fact that during the war, a great many laws were passed to monitor the movements of those who possessed more than a mere trickle of magical creature blood. Ms. Harper was able to access this information for Jones, who then used the information to plan his attacks.

At first, they seemed innocent, almost like child's play - and then Albert Stinewell was killed.

That was when, sources close to Ms. Harper say, everything changed. According to her solicitor, Ms. Harper wanted to stop working for Jones at that point, but she was in over her head without a way out. She was dragged unfairly into the kidnapping of a fairly well-known young witch, and was forced to come between a veela and their mate. Ms. Harper insists that she was just a tool for Jones to use, and that he is the truly guilty party in this mess.

Auror Clyde McKenzie, one half of the arresting auror team, released the following statement to the press: "At this time we would like everyone to be on the lookout for a man who goes by the alias of Jones. We have no clues as to his real name but we do know that he is armed and dangerous. No one is safe around him, so please be careful."

Ms. Harper's trial is set to open later this afternoon, with the full Wizengamot assembled. Testimony will be heard throughout the next week. Due to the sensitive and ongoing nature of this crime, the sessions of the Wizengamot are closed, but this reporter shall endeavor to keep the public informed.

Published January 12th, 1999

**Minister For Magic Signs New Anti-Discrimination Law**

**Edward Belfast and Mikhal Suresh, contributing reporters**

On Monday, after a heated debate, the Minister for Magic signed into law the newest measure of anti-discrimination instituted by the new liberal government. The law undoes many ministerial acts that were put into effect during the war by You-Know-Who, as well as revoking several older measures involving registration of non-human heritage. While magical creatures that are deemed potentially dangerous, such as vampires or werewolves, are still required to submit their information to the Department of Magical Records, there are no longer any Ministry-sponsored tracking programs of their whereabouts.

This law, according to Minister Shacklebolt, will help to undo many of the injustices that led to the years of war that Wizarding Britain has suffered. By making prejudice against those of not-pure wizarding heritage (be it muggle or magical creature) illegal and punishable by law, the Ministry hopes to start to undo some of the old prejudice that has perpetuated throughout society for hundreds of years.

Another, and perhaps secondary, aspect of this law is the elimination of 'protection by marriage'; this defense against many of the older laws has also been nullified by the passage of this legislation. Those who are of non-human heritage will be able to freely go about their business without having to fear the Department of Magical Records coming down on them with licensing fees and the potential for deportation; as such actions are now illegal.

_The Daily Prophet_ would like to note that this law is so revolutionary that it is premature to fully report on the sweeping impact it will have on society as a whole. The paper plans to run a monthly story detailing the changes in society and the stories of those who are deeply affected by such broad and sweeping reforms.

Printed January 25th, 1999

x

A letter from the solicitor of one Dominique Jean Richard, father of Fleur Delacour, to the Department of Magical Records. It is noted that as veela are matrilineal, the veela will never take the name of their mate.

_To Whom it May Concern –_

_Please find attached divorce proceedings of amiable separation without recourse between William Weasley and Fleur Delacour. This marriage has been magically nullified as of December 23, 1998, and the official record must be changed to reflect that._

_Also find enclosed fee of 5G.9S.12K on bank note redeemable at Gringotts Bank for filing fee._

_Regards,_

_Claude St. Just_

_Solicitor; Parc, St. Just et al. _

_Epinay-Sur-Seine, Paris_

x

A note, passed none too discreetly in 7th Year Potions, from a Mr. Draco Malfoy to one Harry Potter.

_Potter –_

_I have been curious about your defense club for some time now- is it possible that I could attend a meeting? I have been told by certain professors that if I do not up my practical defense grade, I am in danger of having trouble on the NEWT practical and I cannot have that._

_DM_

x

The response of Mr. Ronald Weasley to Mr. Malfoy's note:

"Are you bloody kidding me?" Voice low and hissed out as Harry scraped flubberworm guts off of his cutting board and into the caldron, "You can't trust 'im, mate."

And Mr. Potter's response, passed on the way out of class as all headed to lunch:

_Meetings are on Wednesday nights in the first floor classroom. If you want to bring your friends, that's okay, but keep in mind the history here. _

_Would you be willing to teach some counter curses to more advanced dark magic?_

_HP_

x

Two letters, one from home and one in response, delivered by muggle post and a very intelligent postal owl from Hogsmeade respectively:

Dear Mum and Dad,

We did not part on the best of terms. For that I am truly sorry. I know that you need space and time to fully understand everything that I've done, everything I've been going through during the past few years, and I want to give it to you. You deserve the time, and I am selfish for even writing this letter.

The hurt of not having you in my life is too much. I can't bear the thought of losing you both over anything. I spent almost an entire year knowing that you did not even know who I was. That if I saw you on the street, you would not recognize me. It was the worst experience of my life, worse than Bellatrix, worse than being alone, worse than going off to Hogwarts and not knowing what to expect there. I never want to feel that feeling ever again.

You both gave me so much, you accepted without question, and you loved me as your daughter even though our worlds were growing apart. Not very many people can do what you have done for me. You are both such strong and wonderful people.

I write you now, as my final months at Hogwarts tick by, knowing that soon I truly will be forced to choose between two worlds. I don't want to have to choose. I don't want to have to lose you because of horrible choices I had to make, or who I fell in love with.

If only you could meet her; I think you'd really like her. She's kind and gentle and funny and terribly French. Dad might not like that - he didn't have too much fun that time we went on holiday before my third year – but you'd like her so much, both of you.

I took her to London for New Year's Eve, and we went into a photo booth. I got an extra copy of the pictures we took made for you. They are attached.

While I cannot force you to accept me for who I am, please know that I will always be your daughter, and I will always love you,

Hermione

Dearest Hermione,

I am writing this, but your mum is reading over my shoulder and making corrections as we go. Forgive any cross outs, they are not my fault.

You will always be our daughter. Never forget that. I remember when you were a small round baby crawling from room to room, messing up your nappies and generally being completely adorable. You've grown, Hermione, you've grown so much – from an awkward girl into a beautiful and vibrant young woman. When I look at you, I see your mother, I see _my_ mother – and you make my heart ache. What happened to my little girl?

We were not prepared for your Hogwarts letter to come, but we took it in stride, as it explained so many things. We listened to your school reports and wrote to your teachers when we had questions (bet you didn't know that, oh well, the secret is out. Your mother is now scowling at me.) and we let you grow up out of sight and then before our eyes.

How were we supposed to feel when you came home every summer with tales of how you and your friends had nearly gotten killed, or worse, expelled from Hogwarts? We let you grow. When you told us, before everything got really bad, that you were going to go to war – I did not want to let you. You said you had to, that because of who your friend Harry was, there was no way you could avoid it. You said you were fighting the good fight, and we agreed to let you fight.

And then suddenly it was a year later and we were halfway around the world and you were standing there, looking so much _older_, telling us that you were sorry. That you were so sorry and that you had made a terrible choice. These things take so much more time than we'd initially thought. Your mother forgave you instantly, but I still harbored the resentment toward the world that had stolen away your innocence.

You were so very grown up, coming home and telling us everything. I was so proud of you, but again, another bombshell landing in our lives. It was like the Blitz, one thing after another. I was overwhelmed, your mother was upset. So we asked you to leave because I did not know what I was going to say and I did not want to hurt you.

Live your life, Hermione. Love whomever you please. Your mother would love grandchildren, and so would I; but there is no pressure. We Grangers were always a fairly small and disconnected family. If you want to love this girl (she is quite pretty and very obviously French – your mother approves. I would like to meet her before passing judgment) then do it. It is your life and your choices. You are an adult in both worlds now. I can no sooner stop you than I can disapprove of your actions.

People love who they love, and we love you. Perhaps, in time, we can grow to love this girl you cherish so dearly.

Until next time and remember that you are forgiven,

Dad _& Mum_

x

A vicious taunt received, and almost immediately submitted as evidence against the man who called himself Mr. Jones, during Mrs. Park's trial.

_Next time maybe you should stop using your whore body and make an attempt to catch me in the act, veela._


	33. Act Four, Scene One

**Golden Haze – Act Four, Scene One**

**AN: **The story is rapidly coming to a close and I'm starting to tie up loose ends. As such, I would really appreciate some feedback on these last few chapters, as I am sure that everyone here would also like for the story to end on a positive note. Is there anything that I've left off that needs to be resolved? Any pieces left unturned?

Let me know. :]

Music of the Story – Death Cab For Cutie's new Album

* * *

Things were changing. Fleur watched as January waned, her life seemingly stalled as stood in front of her students, teaching them things that they should have learned many years ago, trying to prepare them for examinations that did not take into account the lack of continuity in their teaching. Defense was a subject that built upon itself every year, and the infuriating lack of continuity that plagued the Hogwarts students was beginning to feel like a constant thorn in Fleur's side.

They had moved on from warding and into curses and breaking them in her seventh year class. This was one aspect of the subject that all of the students still in NEWT-level Defense should be quite skilled at before even coming into the class – as it was fifth and sixth year subject matter. So far her students had not disappointed her, and their theoretical knowledge of many curses was well beyond what Fleur herself had known at eighteen. That was the cost of war, it seemed.

She stood in the front of her class, and posed a question that was probably not the smartest that she'd ever asked. She was curious as to what they would think, their minds were not as innocent as her own had been when she had first been asked the question in her own Mastery classes.

"Why is it that when one is not fully 'uman, that certain spells carry different effects?" She paused, directing her wand to the chalkboard and spelling the chalk to stand poised, ready to write down responses. She'd gotten good with using levitation spells to control chalk since she'd first started teaching. The amount of finite control that it took to form letters with such a simple spell was challenging and mentally draining to anyone, Fleur reasoned, and her skill with the spell had only gotten better since she'd started to have to use it on a daily basis.

The class was silent, and Fleur pursed her lips. "Well, perhaps if we go back a little further, to review." She glanced out across the room, her eyes meeting intelligent brown as Hermione watched her with interested eyes. Hermione was the only one who seemed even remotely interested in what she had to say today, the rest of the class was staring out at the rain through the window or dozing. Maybe she should award points today, just so that they'd wake up. "Who can name me a 'umanoid magical creature?"

She was pleased to see a good number of hands shoot up. She turned, taking the chalk that had been hovering in midair. She would write these down without the aid of magic. "Just shout zem out," she called over her shoulder.

The first voice belonged to Neville Longbottom, surprisingly. He faltered when she turned her head to meet his eyes. Fleur would have thought that Hermione or Draco or maybe even Ronald would want to get the first word in. This was an easy question, after all. "Go ahead," she nodded to him over her shoulder.

"Well there's banshees," Neville said, watching as Fleur carefully wrote 'banshee' on the chalkboard. She had to be careful to not use the French spelling, and she was sorely tempted to, just to see if they would notice. She had to wake them up somehow.

"Mmmm _bon,_ what else?" Fleur said, nodding to a Ravenclaw girl in the back. Soon she had several other magical creatures to add to her list, save one rather important one. She thought it funny, that they would avoid mentioning her own affliction, but Fleur knew better than to think that they were doing it out of innocence. A good number of them probably did not even know. It was not as though she had ever directly come out and announced it – and Rita Skeeter had published so much drivel during the Triwizard Tournament that they could have just assumed that the reporter had made it all up.

She turned then, staring out across her classroom, "We 'ave most of them 'ere now, but there is one. One small, but rather important one that you are all missing, non?" She smiled, all teeth and feeling slightly predatory. "Mademoiselle Granger, perhaps you would like to enlighten the class?"

Hermione stared at her for a moment, before answering tentatively, "We've forgotten the veela."

There were a few 'oh's and 'I don't believe we forgot that' that floated around the room after that and Fleur could not help but smile. "It is amusing to me that only Mademoiselle Granger remembered such an important member of this list." She shook her head slightly, trying to clear the image of the stunned faces of her peers at school the first time they had discovered her heritage. "Veela ancestry is one of the most common of all magical creature 'eritages. I would be willing to stake quite a lot on several in this room 'aving such ancestry."

Their eyes flicked around, resting on Draco Malfoy for a moment, and then back to Fleur. A few of the Ravenclaws that she knew were also from old families glanced around at each other as well, cautiously trying to see who else had that same almost inhuman and aristocratic look about them.

"My grandmere, you know," Fleur shrugged, answering their questioning gazes. She was not opposed to people know, it would explain a lot to them. "But my 'eritage does not particularly matter, for the purpose of this discussion was 'ow do certain spells – or curses – change when one's blood is not purely 'uman." Fleur waved her hand at the chalkboard, only half paying attention as it flipped over and she began to teach in earnest.

The subject had been covered in the previously assigned reading, but Fleur was still young enough to know that there was no chance that many of the students in the class had done more than glance at it in the minutes before class. They had simply too much to do, and with the NEWTs drawing ever closer, Fleur could not say she blamed them. It made it easier to teach, however, without students constantly interjecting and asking for clarification. She was willing to give it, but only to a point.

At present, she wanted to lecture and get this class out of the way. She had half a mind to assign each student to look up their wizarding genealogy and write a good two feet on why certain spells sometimes did not work correctly for them. This idea, however, would not be fair to the muggle born students in the class, not to mention rather challenging for those students like Harry Potter or Neville Longbottom whose parents were not around to answer such questions.

Fleur finished her lecture with several minutes to spare, and paused to answer any general questions that the class had.

"Have you ever met a banshee?" One of the Hufflepuff girls – Hannah Abbot – asked with a curiously cocked eyebrow.

"Non," Fleur thought for a moment. None of her classmates at Beauxbatons had been anything other than human. She had been the lone part-veela that she had been aware of. There were probably others, but they kept their heritage hidden well. Fleur was one of the unlucky ones that she was not so far removed from the veela blood that she still bore a close resemblance to the full-blooded variety. "Although, I do hear that the drummer for The Weird Sisters is at least a quarter."

They giggled at that, collectively. Group laughter was cathartic, improving Fleur's dark mood over the trial and the fact that Jones was going to get away with what he had orchestrated unless she was able to do something.

"What's it like, being part veela," Ronald asked. She glared at him, and he clarified, "I mean, what spells don't work for you an' stuff."

Fleur shrugged, "There are a few self-defense spells that carry different weight. I think this is because the risk of a veela getting sexually assaulted by one under their thrall is much 'igher than an average attractive woman. The effects are quite a bit more potent."

Terry Boot, an unusually quiet Ravenclaw (for her class), raised his hand and asked a question that Fleur had been dreading since she had opened this up to questions. "Is it true that veela can only fall in love once, despite how er… attractive they universally are?"

The window was suddenly fascinating. She turned and stared at the icy rain that had been pounding against the window panes for the better part of the day for a long moment before she finally found the words to respond. She could feel their eyes on her, and she felt so completely and utterly uncomfortable that there were no words to describe how much she wanted to melt into the floor and simply walk away from the conversation.

"Yes," she said simply. She placed both hands flat on the desk in front of her and glanced at the clock on the wall, "I will let you go five minutes early if you do not tell Professor McGonagall."

This seemed to brighten the mood, and the seventh years began to gather their things. Fleur remained behind her desk, gathering up the essays that they'd handed in at the beginning of class and straightening them into a neat pile that she would take with her back to her office.

Terry Boot lingered, his expression unreadable as he stood by the door. Hermione had glanced at him and then back to Fleur on her way out, wordlessly saying that she would come by later with a slight nod and a careful pat on her book bag.

Fleur watched Hermione leave and then faced Terry Boot. "Did you 'ave a question?" she asked quietly. She bent and picked up her satchel from the floor beside her desk and began to slide the essays into it.

"Just wanted to say that I did not mean to make you feel uncomfortable," He was a tall boy, one of the few that she had never really spoken two – with quiet eyes. "I was just curious."

She nodded to him, almost surprised by his humility. At eighteen, a young man would think themselves at the top of the world, but here was a boy who knew better. He had asked an academic question without thinking much of the consequences. She got that a lot from Ravenclaws in all years, and wondered if it was just the nature of the house. She did not remember them being quite so _nosy_ during the Triwizard Tournament when she sat classes with them. Then again, she'd spent much of the tournament worried about Gabrielle and Hermione and not preforming well and how Hermione seemed to be going out with Harry and Viktor and a least half the school if the papers were to be believed.

She'd learned her lesson about that.

"The books are not very specific on this matter, are they?" She sighed, "It is for the best you asked me and not a true veela, Monsieur Boot. They are not so kind about invasions of privacy." She clasped her satchel closed and pulled it over her shoulder. "Good afternoon."

x

Fleur retreated to her office and hoped that she would be left alone. There were some things that simply _were not_ asked of individuals with creature heritage, and she had made a bit of an ass of herself in speaking to Terry Boot that way. She was sure that he would understand her reaction, especially when he did the research she was sure that he would do upon returning to his dormitory. They simply did not understand sometimes, Fleur reasoned. There was no way that she could teach such a thing.

Hermione had seen the exchange. (She probably already knows.)

Fleur shook her head violently. She had avoided telling Hermione just how stuck she truly was on her, she'd explained the singular attraction to one's mate, she'd explained how veela mating _worked_, but never how Hermione was her one chance at happiness. She did not think that she could do it, that she would ever be able to find the worlds. She loved Hermione with all her heart, and she hated herself for not being able to give Hermione that choice.

A quiet knock came on her office door and Draco Malfoy's head appeared on the other side. This meant that he was skipping his Ancient Runes class, and Fleur narrowed her eyes. NEWTs were less than five months away, he had to go to all his classes or he would miss something important! "I was hoping to catch you after class," Draco said when she motioned for him to come in. "Did Boot apologize?"

Sitting up a little straighter in her chair, Fleur nodded. "Oui, he did."

Draco sat across her desk from her, in one of the more comfortable armchairs that she'd commandeered from the staffroom. He folded his arms across his chest and suddenly looked very much like a first year instead of the second-year seventh year that he truly was. "Good, I'd hate to kick his insensitive ass."

She laughed. Threw her head back and laughed. Draco Malfoy of all people was standing up for her honor. She did not know what to make of it.

Kinship is strong with veela, no matter how diluted their blood is. "Draco an affront to me is not one to you." Fleur said, pushing her hair out of her eyes. "It is ridiculous to think such a thing."

He scowled, "I am also in the same predicament. Also Granger was _right there_."

"Your ancestry is diluted enough that you can love as many times as you want." Fleur's tone was gentle, as if speaking to a child and not a man of eighteen. Sometimes she found herself doing this in her classes with the older students. She did not understand it, knowing that these children, all of them, had seen enough to catapult them into maturity far before their time. "Do not be dramatic."

Draco seemed put out by her comment, and she put on her best smile. Fleur was so grateful that his distant ancestry made him immune to the veela. She did not have to mold her face into a perfect scowl just to get him to look away.

They fell into a silence then, awkwardness filling the air with a tension so thick that Fleur thought that she could reach out and cut through it with a knife. She bent down and opened her satchel. The essay papers were in her hand and deposited on her desk and she'd gone back for her grading ink when Draco blurted out, "I went to Potter's defense club."

Her fingers closed around her jar of red ink and she set it back down on the table. "Wonderful! 'ow did that go?"

"Miserable. I'm pants at defense."

Fleur frowned. Draco was not that bad, and he was a skilled fighter when he actually had the chance to research what he was doing beforehand. His knowledge of practical defense was so terrible that she wondered how he had managed to get through so many years of the class while maintaining such a high average. "I would not say that." She said with narrowed eyes, "I think you need to keep going."

"Obviously." Draco's face pulled downwards into a sneer. He looked at his hands for a moment and Fleur watched him, wondering what he could be thinking about. After several long moments, Draco seemed to settle on what he wanted to say. "Look, I know that you go tomorrow to give you statement for the trial. What are you going to say about Jones?"

She couldn't. She did not want to talk about this. About how she had failed Hermione so spectacularly, or how she was unable to bring the person who had actually perpetuated the crime to justice. They'd discussed it, and everyone seemed to be in agreement that it was a better plan for her to simply get Park convicted for kidnapping and not try for anything else. Jones was the sort who would gloat about getting away with what had had done. Of that Fleur was completely positive.

"Nothing." She said quietly, not looking at Draco.

"Nothing? But why not? He's going to get away with it!"

Fleur sighed. Draco's anger was understandable. Jones had not just hurt Hermione, he'd hurt Draco and threatened a great many of Draco's friends. Fleur had realized long ago, while still at school, that her feelings about her heritage were unique. Most embraced the chance to be a little bit different and to have the gifts of their non-human ancestors. Draco would not understand why Fleur was not forcing the issue.

She had discussed her plan with Hermione. They'd long-since realized that Jones was the sort of egotistical maniac that would need to be drawn out. He was already trying to goad Fleur into trying to get him, his continued notes were evidence enough of that. She wondered if he blamed her, for getting his mole within the Department of Magical Records arrested. Park had been a fool to take a Veela's mate, and Fleur did not think he knew anything about that bond.

Hermione had suggested that Fleur find a way to use the adamor curse on him. She had said that if Fleur used it on him, all her research indicated that it would probably fill his head with horrible images long enough for the aurors to actually catch him. They'd have something to hold him on as well then, which Hermione thought was the most important thing. Now all it required was their getting Jones to slip up and actually come out into the open and attack them.

A small smile played across Fleur's lips, "'e will not." She knew she sounded smug. She was proud, Hermione had come up with a fantastic plan and it would be relatively easy to implement it. "I 'ave a plan."

Draco leaned forward, his palms pressed together and his unbuttoned shirt sleeves riding up. She could see the Dark Mark still burned into his flesh and she looked away quickly. It was strange for him to reveal it, but she supposed that it was a mark of his past that he was unwilling to move away from, and that he had no shame in it. She admired that, to some extent, and knew that the fact that Harry Potter had given evidence at his trial that made clear how he was forced into doing every crime he was implicated in during the war. He was not hiding from his past nor from any aspect of himself.

Fleur only wished she had that skill.

Still, to see the mark shining so brightly disturbed her greatly. She tried to not look at it, for it was disturbing to see it so closely. She supposed that others still had the mark, but they were all in Azkaban, or serving life sentences of house arrest.

Draco pursed his lips, "You can't do anything illegal. Your mate is not threatened, you won't be protected."

Ah, their conundrum.

Hermione had asked her why she was not being charged with assault on Park in the first place and Fleur had begun to explain how the tenants of wizarding law tended to view Veela.

It was a less than human existence, she explained. The laws reduced her ancestors to nothing more than their basic level, thinking them incapiable of making a decision other htan the need to protect their mate. While it was necessary and important to do just that, all veela could make conscious decisions to commit crimes, losing control like Fleur had was rare and out of character. Most veela embraced their heritage to some extent, and Fleur knew that her rejection of her ancestry was what caused her to lose control so completely.

She told Hermione that she should be grateful that the law does not see veela and those with veela ancestry as fully human, as Fleur's loss of control and the way that she had used a long-term paralytic spell on Park would have been enough to warrant at least an investigation had she been fully human. Hermione had frowned at this, and said that everyone should be seen equally in the eyes of the law.

They had gotten lucky, and Fleur had let the subject drop. She did not want to fight with Hermione over something that had kept her safe.

"This spell will not be detected as anything other than one cast in self-defense," Fleur explained. She smiled at Draco, her eyes narrowed and slightly predatory. "Do not worry, I will still be around to make sure that you pass your NEWT so you can go on to a resoundingly dull career in politics."

He hung his head, not all that perturbed by her jab. Things were getting better. Fleur knew that she could not trust him, that he was entirely self-serving, but there was so much about Draco Malfoy that she found herself _liking. _

Hermione trusted him, to some extent, and he had granted Fleur a boon. Things were getting better, he understood the old ways.

She was far more _veela_ than he was.

"Couldn't we just slip her veritaserum?" Draco asked and Fleur jerked her head up, she'd been staring down at her hands, watching as her control swam in and out. Her nails were growing.

She clenched her fist and shook her head violently, hair going every which way. "Non, 'e must be drawn out." There was so little else she could say, she did not trust Draco enough to actually tell him the plan. She did not even know if it was feasible. Hermione seemed to think it was, but the half-written letter to the auror McKenzie half-hidden under the stack of essays she'd collected during her second year class that morning. "I know what I am doing, Draco."

He stood, his shirtsleeves falling down and the Dark Mark again vanishing. "I'm not so sure you do…"

Fleur watched him go, holding her tongue and merely raising her hand to him as he left. She did not know what to say to him other than that yes, she did know what she was doing. This was what she did. She _planned, _she schemed.

Gringotts did not hire her for her looks, that much Fleur was certain of.

x

_McKenzie –_

_I know that we have not spoken at length in a few weeks, since I gave you my statement about what happened with Madame Park. I wanted to get your opinion on a course of action that could potentially bring down our elusive Monsieur Jones. _

_As you well know, he has continued to send letters to me despite the fact that logic suggests that keeping a low profile might actually be a smarter course of action. I want to use this, to force him out and to attack me. I suggest you research the adamor curse and its effectiveness and let me know if you think that this will help you to catch and convict him of being the mastermind behind these murders, kidnappings and assaults. As far as I can tell, the effects would be limited to the moment, and at least then, you would be able to take him into custody and get a full confession in the ways that I'm sure aurors know how._

_I shall be giving a deposition at the trial tomorrow, please let me know if you think that this course of action has merit._

_Sincerely,_

_Fleur Delacour_

_Hogwarts._

x

"What did you tell them?" Hermione asked. She was sitting on the sofa in Fleur's sitting room, a book in her hand. Fleur squinted, but could not make out the title.

Fleur pushed the door shut and sighed. She was exhausted. The deposition had taken far longer than she'd initially thought it would, and she had ended up missing both lunch and dinner. She had stopped on her way out of London and gotten falafel at a muggle street vendor but it had barely taken the edge off of the pressing exhaustion that she felt.

Hermione was here, and Fleur felt at ease.

Ever since they had returned from the Christmas holidays, Hermione had found her way down and into Fleur's rooms late in the evening. She said it was only a temporary thing, but Fleur knew that they had both become far too dependent on the other to sleep at night. Still, it was a singularly pleasant feeling, pulling Hermione close and drifting off into sleep that was no longer plagued with nightmares of battles long past.

She knew that Hermione came because of other reasons, because the trauma and her own nightmares. Fleur wanted to tell herself it was because she too, found sleeping with another soothing, but Hermione had been rather close-lipped about the whole thing and Fleur had been unable to get a straight answer out of her about it. She resolved to simply not push the issue.

Fleur sat down on the sofa next to Hermione and shrugged off her cloak and jacket. Hermione's magical signature was everywhere in the room and Fleur inhaled deeply, feeling the slight tickle of Hermione's magic around her. She had refreshed the warming charms, probably a good thing, as it had been freezing that morning. "The truth. Exactly as it 'appened," Fleur explained, a slight smile playing across her features.

Hermione carefully marked her place in her book and closed it. Fleur could read the title of it now and her eyes narrowed. She owned that book. She was fairly certain that she'd _loaned_ that book to Hermione back at the beginning of the school year.

"Mn," Hermione acknowledged, setting her book down on the ottoman. "I was worried when you did not come back right away."

Trying not to wonder why Hermione was reading up on the various aspects of veela culture that Fleur had yet to talk to her about, Fleur put on her best grin. "It took far longer than I 'ad expected." Her expression turned sour, "They did not even feed me. I 'ad to get dinner on my way back 'ere."

"The horror!" Hermione clapped her hand to her mouth and Fleur could see the merry twinkle in her eyes.

Fleur grinned back at her. "I know, it is terrible." She said the words with the thickest accent she could, trying to sound as dramatic as possible. Her hand was on her chest and her other was flung out like an opera singer.

It felt good to see Hermione burst into giggles. Things had been so deathly serious between them for so long that just having a laugh at the expense of the Ministry of Magic was cathartic, and Hermione's laughter was contagious.

She felt as though she had not truly smiled in ages, and Fleur could not help herself. She laughed right along with Hermione.

"You look so silly like that," Hermione said between giggles, "Did you want to eat?"

Fleur shook her head. "After all that I recounted today – and the falafel - I do not think my stomach could 'andle anymore." Her face darkened, thinking back to the way that she had been questioned by the solictors and the prosecution. They had wanted an airtight case, and Fleur could not give them one. She could not honestly say that she was acting like a veela, because that would be admitting to something that she was only just beginning to accept. She knew that it would make everything easier, but the last thing she wanted was to add a complication into the precarious legal situation she now found herself in: complete and utter freedom.

The laws were gone. She could do whatever she pleased. Fleur had no idea how to deal with such a change, she had no idea what to do with the knowledge that she could go home if she wanted to. She was no longer married to William.

Nothing was holding her back now, save the aching feeling of doubt and fear in the back of her mind that Hermione would not want this. Would not want her.

"They questioned my mental state." She said quietly. She did not look at Hermione, for Hermione had seen that mental state – she had seen Fleur completely and totally out of control and had managed to bring her back to something that could, on good days, be called control.

Hermione bit her lip, her brow furrowed and her eyes thoughtful. "Oh." Was all she said, but Fleur could see the younger girl's mind working. There was something to be said for the way that the veela instinctively _knew_ what their mate was thinking, even if Fleur hated that intuition.

Hermione was wondering the same thing that the prosecutor had wondered, that Draco had wondered, that every single person in Fleur's life had wondered when they heard that she was the one who had caught Park.

_Was she really out of control?_

She had been, she had let the veela take her, and it was the most whole Fleur had been since Halloween. Since she had promised something to Hermione that Hermione had yet to truly understand.

"But it went alright?" Hermione asked after a long moment. Her eyebrows were raised and her cheeks were slightly puffed out.

Fleur leaned forward and kissed both of those cheeks, her lips lingering longer than was necessary, a promise of things to come. "Oui, it went well."

Silence claimed them then. Fleur settled in closer to Hermione, who shifted her weight so that she was resting into the crook of Fleur's arm. They rested so well together, fitting into each other like perfect puzzle pieces.

Hermione's fingers reached up, brushing the hair by Fleur's ear out of the way, "You're wearing them," she said quietly, satisfaction coloring her voice.

Fleur raised her fingers to brush against the earrings that she'd put in early that morning as she dressed both as conservatively and as traditionally as possible. She did not know what the proper dress code for testifying in a court room was and she did not want to risk looking improper or out of place. It would hurt the case; it would potentially get Park released into the public.

"I wear them a lot, 'ermione. They are lovely," this was not so much a confession, as a confirmation. Fleur loved what Hermione had found for her in some hole-in-the-wall boutique, they were perfect teardrops – spelled to reflect light and change in different ways depending on the light. Hermione's gift was colored with innocence and the satisfaction that a first love. Fleur could not help but wear them as often as possible. She wanted people to know.

"I like them on you," Hermione grinned, leaning forward and kissing the top of Fleur's ear. She lingered there for a moment, her hair ticking Fleur's nose. Fleur inhaled, enjoying how Hermione's hair smelled.

Hermione pulled away, her eyes downcast and Fleur immediately began to worry. What was wrong? She shifted, but Hermione began to speak once again, giving her pause: "I feel like I'm, I dunno, laying claim or something."

She did not understand it, then. Fleur knew that she was expecting too much when Hermione had pressed the carefully wrapped package into Fleur's hands in the middle of the Weasley's kitchen. She should have known that the way that Hermione looked at her was because of love and not because of some adherence to an ancient rite that by all accounts should have been disbanded eons ago.

A promised one, at the beginning of the relationship between those who are destined, would often give a veela a piece of jewelry. It was always plain, pale in comparison to the veela, to the love that they were just beginning to build between their two hearts. She had thought… incorrectly, it seemed. She had been floored when she'd opened the gift, completely unsure of what to say to Hermione.

"You do not need to do that." Fleur hooked her finger under Hermione's chin. Their eyes met and Fleur held Hermione's curious gaze. She would tell Hermione of what she had done later. There was something that was so incredibly romantic about the gesture that everything else could wait. "I 'ave always belonged to you," Fleur whispered fiercely, pressing her lips against Hermione's.

Hermione responded against her, their bodies shifting as one, struggling to become more comfortable. Fleur twisted so that Fleur was lying on top of her, and Fleur grinned as they pulled apart.

Her fingers lacing into Fleur's hair, Hermione asked, "Terry said that veela only fall in love once." When Fleur said nothing, she continued, "It's true isn't it?"

"Mn…" Fleur said, leaning down to kiss Hermione's neck. She lingered there, inhaling the pleasant scent of Hermione's skin and her shampoo. "It is more that there is only one person for them. They can 'ave flirtation, admiration, even lust, for others, but true love only comes once."

"It's very romantic." Hermione pointed out.

"Perhaps, then, 'ermione, I can show you just 'ow romantic it can be."


	34. Act Four, Scene Two

**Golden Haze - Act Four, Scene Two**

AN: Someone reviewed and said that Fleur and Hermione should talk about the future more, don't worry that comes next chapter, as well as in the following one. This has now been officially story boarded out - going to end on Chapter 40. Seems a good place as any to end it. Things are going to quickly come to a conclusion.

This chapter is all plot and a little bit of fun at the end, hope you all enjoy.

Special thanks to all those of you who review and all those of you who add this story to your alerts and favorites lists. It really means a lot to me. :D

Music of the Story: Daby Toure - Hassina

* * *

The news came by word of mouth and though the papers. There had been attacks by the madman Jones, on children, on _young_ children, indiscriminate and very violent in nature. Her fingers were white-knuckled as she gripped the newspaper, scanning the articles quickly, not caring that her comprehension was not where it should be in order to fully pull the meaning out of the words.

There were no words for this.

Jones was attacking children, anyone he could find that obviously was not fully human. He'd nearly killed a half-giant girl the night before, the newspaper said. Jones' knife had marred her beautiful and youthful face beyond recognition. The newspaper article said that her parents were considering muggle reconstructive surgery the damage was so bad.

As she read the article, Fleur's thoughts were murderous. Her thoughts turned to the wonderment of how loving and kind the lone half-giant that she'd had in her life had been to her at the worst part of her life. This was unacceptable. The Mmnistry was not doing nearly enough to catch this man.

A small owl flew into the open window of her office and dropped a letter down onto her desk. Fleur had to lunge forward to grab it before it fell into her cup of coffee, still steaming under the warming charm that the house elf who had brought it to her had left on it when Fleur had distractedly thanked him. The parchment was soggy, but the owl was too small to have come very far. A quick glance outside confirmed that it was, once again, raining. Fleur wrinkled her nose as she saw the now recognizable scrawl.

_What does he want now?_ She thought darkly, knowing that this could not be good. Jones had singled her out for some reason, and she did not know why. Fleur did not want to receive his taunts and his jabs at her heritage. She resolved to speak to McGonagall and potentially the rest of the Order of the Phoenix as soon as she could about it.

Her wand held at the ready, she cast the many dark and curse detection spells over the envelope that habit now dictated. She would not trust Jones to not curse whatever this latest attack was, but she was not going to take unnecessary risks. Jones' handwriting distorted under the sky blue light that emanated from the tip of her wand, and then swam back into view, the envelope was clean of any magical tampering. Fleur set her wand down, and gingerly broke the wax seal, her eyes narrowing as she unfolded the thin sheet of paper.

_Today I attacked a little girl._

_She could not have been more than five,_

_And yet when I cut into her flesh,_

_I could not have felt more alive._

_The idea that a human, muggle or wizard alike, would mate with your kind is repulsive. I shall enjoy illustrating this point to your pretty little girl._

Her hands shook, her control wavered. Hermione was in Arithmancy class right now, Fleur had seen her go into the classroom on her way back up to her office to collect her things and prepare for her seventh year class. There was no way that Jones could hurt her. There was no way.

(Go to her.)

_I cannot._ It was not often that Fleur felt the veela's voice now, and it sounded so much less predatory and aggressive than it had before – following her own natural speech patterns. She knew that with that calm acceptance of her heritage came a certain degree of wholeness and she embraced it fully. There was little she could do at this point. Everything was forward, breathing, moving, taking steps to make her life complete once again. She was taking command, control, and ruling it with an iron fist.

Still, the veela had voiced her inner fears so delightfully well. Fleur did want to go to Hermione, she wanted to hold her in her arms and tell her how Jones would never, ever hurt her.

The small box hidden in her desk drawer told her that she, to this day, wanted to do more than that.

William had told her that she should have gone through with it at New Years, but it had been too soon. Their divorce had just barely been finalized magically and the paperwork had yet to even be filed. She had to wait, wait for that perfect moment when Hermione was sure to tell her yes.

She shoved those thoughts back into the drawer with the box that brought them on. Now was not the time or the place.

Jones would not get away with this.

x

The second note arrived as the first one had; only this one was delivered with breakfast three days later. Fleur had been talking to Professor Spout about possibly using some of the more violent plants that she kept in her personal greenhouse to showcase how it is not only wizards and creatures, but rather nature itself that her students needed to be prepared to defend against. She was thinking about using some sort of fungus with a nasty side effect in order to teach them about always making sure an area was clear before they moved on to the next one.

"Oh look, dear, you've got a letter," Sprout said as Fleur wrote down another suggestion from the herbology professor on a scrap of paper. She was using a muggle pen that she was fairly certain had once belonged to Hermione. It had been at the bottom of her satchel, so Fleur had not questioned it, but it wrote very differently than the quills she was used to, and she was having trouble getting it to actually make a mark on the thick bit parchment that she'd found in her bag as well.

Fleur picked it up and offered a bit of ham to the bird, grateful that she would not have to eat it.

"I am not sure that I'm going to want to read it," Fleur muttered darkly to herself in French, ignoring a raised eyebrow from Professor Spout. Jones' handwriting stood out like an omen in smudged black ink on the thin envelope.

She cast the spells automatically, trying to discern if he was again trying to attack her through her mail. His offense had been purely words, up until this point, but Fleur did not dare trust his lack of violent tendencies. The memory of Draco Malfoy's screams as he opened his own letter from Mister Jones was still quite fresh in Fleur's mind.

Blue, no magic involved.

Fleur opened the letter and read it quickly. No magic involved, not really, just idle threats and morbid descriptions of his latest victim. This girl was a newly-made vampire, and he'd taken great pleasure in pouring holy water over her body and watching her skin burn away.

Her hands were shaking.

Professor Spout looked concerned as Fleur's eyes started to franticly roam the Great Hall, looking for Hermione. She had to be there, she had to be safe. Fleur did not think she could handle losing Hermione again. She would kill someone for sure. She would not be able to stop the bestial rage inside of her.

There, Hermione was sitting with Harry and Ron. They were talking with some Ravenclaws at the next table over, leaning into the small corridor between the two tables and laughing. Hermione looked so alive, sitting there among her best friends and her peers. She belonged there, not shoved into something that she still did not fully understand.

Fleur exhaled, her hands growing gradually still over the table, the letter still crumpled in her fist. She was surprised that her palms where not bleeding from suppressing the shaking and the urge to fully lose herself to her instincts. She contained herself well, suppressing that urge to lose control.

A step forward.

"Bad news?" Professor Spout asked.

Fleur shook her head, "Just idle threats."

x

"I think that he's singling you out for some reason, Fleur," Minerva McGonagall leaned back in her chair and started impassively out the window. It was snowing again. Fleur liked the snow, but hated how cold it was here, far to the north of the winters that she was used to. She remembered how her mother had told her during her first winter at Hogwarts that she was a fool to go if she could not handle a little cold. Fleur had responded by jumping into the lake and getting mauled by grindylows. All in all, it seemed like a fair trade off. "You must take action against this, stop your mail for Merlin's sake! He's driving you mad."

Fleur said nothing. She knew what she had to do; their plan was already in motion. Jones was not backing down with his own harassment and Fleur could do little to stop it. She did not want it to stop. She was using it to build her case against him. Every single one of his notes and the corresponding auror reports (accessed via Hermione's rather dubious connection to one Rita Skeeter) were carefully filed away in her rooms, waiting to be presented to the aurors when their plan was finally put into motion.

"Zere is nozing I can do," Fleur muttered, her accent cutting through, wishing that she could speak _French_ to someone. She should firecall her mother. "'e will make 'is move, until then, we are powerless."

Minerva's lips thinned into a white line and Fleur felt herself growing fearful that simply waiting was not good enough. The headmistress tapped her wand idly on the stack of newspapers at the corner of her desk, each marking yet another child attacked for no reason. "Draco Malfoy has a theory," she began, speaking as though it pained her, "And, after hearing it from both him and Harry Potter, I am inclined to believe that it may be true."

Fleur leaned forward, her over robe bunching against her chest and drawing her attention away from Minerva's musing and to the fact that it was incredibly hot in the headmistress' office. "Oh?" she asked, raising her eyebrows and wondering if Minerva would find it incredibly improper to take off her over robe in her presence.

She decided that she was too uncomfortable to bear it much longer. She shrugged off the coal gray garment and carefully folded it across her lap, waiting patiently for Minerva to voice an objection.

"I should turn off the warming charm," Minerva laughed, flicking her wand.

Fleur smiled at her gratefully, but made no move to put the over robe back on. She was fine for the moment in just her sweater.

"Young Mister Malfoy has a theory, when exactly did you file your paperwork to for a visa?" Minerva asked. Fleur wondered briefly if she had always looked this severe, if in her youth she had been the beauty that she seemed to have aged gracefully out of. She did not know what to think of Minerva McGonagall sometimes, there was so much more to her than met the eye.

_When did I send that in…? _She racked her brain; it must have been in September of 1995, maybe October. She'd started in Gringotts that December, once her mastery had been completed. Merlin, she'd been trapped in this country for almost four years now. "Sometime in the fall of 1995," she said at length, not being specific because she'd honestly have to pull out the papers to be sure.

There was a look of satisfaction in her eyes as Minerva continued: "There are not a lot of partial veela immigrating to a country like Britain. The laws, until very recently did not it very easy or the country very hospitable. You were probably one of the few that have come through in recent years. It was printed in the paper that Gwen Harper started her job at the Department of Magical Records around that time."

"Is 'e implying that Jones targeting me is just because of when I filed my paperwork?" Fleur's tone was incredulous. "That is… c'est ridicule. Was 'e wronged by a veela? Or is that just a 'appy coincidence aussi?"

Minerva's face was impassive, but her slight nod made Fleur want to scream. There was _no way_ that this was anything but personal for Jones. The way that he was deliberately targeting her – Fleur ran a tired hand through her hair. "I don't know what to say, Minerva."

The headmistress bridged her fingers, looking impressively like Albus Dumbledore in the half light – albeit with square spectacles and a rather severe expression. Her eyes did not twinkle in the way that Dumbledore's had, and Fleur was not drawn into them by any other means than a mutual respect between herself and Minerva. "Continue with whatever plan Miss Granger has concocted. As long as it does not involve cat hair and polyjuice potion, you should be in very good hands."

Fleur blinked, she had not heard this story. Somehow, if Hermione had not told it, Fleur did not think it was her business to know it. It sounded far more like a traumatic experience than the fond memory that seemed to almost twinkle in Minerva's eye. "I … I shall endeavor to do that." She pulled her over robe over her shoulders, not bothering to fasten it (she rather enjoyed the billowing effect) and nodded to Minerva.

She had crossed the room in three quick steps and her hand was on the door handle before Minerva's voice gave her pause, "Oh and Fleur?"

"Yes, 'eadmistress?"

"Treat her well, she deserves it after what she's been through."

A fierce blush burning across her cheeks, Fleur nodded resolutely. "I will."

x

Hermione was not in her rooms when Fleur returned to them. She took down her wards slowly, taking the time to really inspect the old spell work that lay underneath it. She loved the look of it, the way that it swirled and adjusted itself to have new spells laid upon it. Beauxbatons was not like this, Beauxbatons would not have survived having the climactic battle of a war fought on its grounds – but Hogwarts – Hogwarts _thrived. _It grew out of the chaos of the battlefield, adapting and changing. The school had recovered gracefully. A mere summer and it was back to normal, it was almost… magical.

Fleur crossed the room easily and inhaled deeply. She had not spoken to her mother in some time, despite the fact that she had finalized the divorce with William, she had not found the words to tell her mother. She was desperate; she longed to have her mother truly understand why she had done what she'd done in the first place.

Her fingers closed around the small pouch of floo powder she kept on the mantle. She'd been using it to send letters to Gabrielle, knowing that her mail was being screened by the ministry. Fleur's fingers shook as she took a pinch of the glittery powder and threw it into the fire. Her voice spoke the name of her family's home, adding in the international keywords so that she did not end up popping into some random British person's home instead of her mother's kitchen.

The flames turned green and Fleur knelt and leaned forward into the flames.

The kitchen of her childhood home swam into view and Fleur's mother dropped the dish she had been washing. The tinkle of breaking glass in the sink met her ears and Fleur winced. Perhaps she should have announced herself before sticking her head into the fireplace.

"Fleur!" She shouted, her face blossoming into a bright smile.

_Why didn't I do this sooner? _Fleur though, smiling brightly at her mother. "Maman."

She did not push herself forward and step through the fire. There were all sorts of permits and visas required for that, and the strongly worded letter that she would receive, should she go through, was not worth the hastle. Her mother would be able to see her soon enough.

She and Hermione had talked, and Fleur had said that she did not think that she would be returning to Hogwarts to teach in the fall. Hermione had shaken her head and asked her if she had ever considered it in the first place.

Fleur had not, but she was not about to admit that to Hermione. Veela never admit defeat. Her grandmere had taught her that when she was a child.

Hermione had applied to a mastery program in Cairo, near to where Fleur still had an open offer to return to the local Gringotts branch. They'd both talked about wanting to travel, and Africa, Fleur reasoned, was as good a place as any to start.

"How are you?" Her mother clicked her tongue disapprovingly. "You do not call, you do not write, and then I read your name in the English papers – you helped apprehend a criminal?" Her mother's eyebrows were raised – never a good sign – and her lips were pursed, "How do you do all this while still being a professor?"

Fleur winched, she deserved her mother's ire. She had not been good about calling home, she had never been good at it. She wrote letters instead, but it was not the same once the Ministry started to read her mail to make sure that it was not full of curses and dark magic and acidic plant puss.

"I've given up sleep. It does wonders to the amount of free time I have," Fleur said simply, shrugging her shoulders, knowing that the gesture would show though the flames. "Besides, I had all of the winter holiday to catch up on my grading. My poor students did not know what hit them when I handed them back all that work."

Her mother laughed, before her expression turned more serious. "Mother tells me that you and William –"

"Yes it was finalized about two weeks ago. Filed officially after the law was passed." Fleur did not want to go into it. Her life was her own to live; she wanted this whole period of unpleasantness behind her. "I am sorry I did not floo you jumping for joy, but there were more pressing matters to take care of."

"I understand," Her mother nodded sagely. "Your mate was threatened, you did what you must."

Fleur nodded. There was not much else she could say about it. It was what she had said in the deposition and in Park's trial. She was following instinct, primal as it might be. "Maman… I…" She began, not really knowing how to begin to say that she was sorry for shutting her parents out of her personal struggle.

They had hated her choice to not embrace the veela in her, hated her choice to go to England, to marry William. Fleur had made a string of bad choices her entire adult life. Driven by duty and a quest for glory and greatness, she had been a fool at seventeen.

"I am sorry." She said quietly. "I am so sorry that I did – everything."

Her mother reached into the fire and touched her cheek. Worn and calloused fingers played across Fleur's cheek and she felt herself flush, embarrassed at her moment of weakness. It had been years since her mother had touched her, it felt amazing.

"You do not need to apologize, my Fleur." Her mother's smile was kind and reassuring. Fleur felt her heart warm at that smile. She had seen so much of her mother angry in recent years that seeing that smile reminded her so clearly of her childhood. "You are my daughter; I will always love you, no matter how bull-headed you are." Her mother glanced towards the door to her father's study and added in a conspiratorial whisper, "I blame your father's genes."

Fleur rolled her eyes. "I would have said yours, maman."

"No, my genes are full of beauty and perfection; also a great ability for arithmancy that I sadly did not pass on to my children."

She couldn't help it, she grinned. She had been trying to be serious, but her mother was obviously not in a serious sort of mood. She could only do so much around her mother, her infectious smile and way with words was hard to resist. Fleur shook her head, "I thought I did fairly well on that exam considering how challenging I found the subject matter."

"And now you dig around in tombs all day for a living," Her mother shook her head. "To think, you could have had a nice, indoor sort of job."

"I like my job," Fleur pointed out.

Her mother nodded absently, settling in more comfortably on the woven hearthrug. "So tell me, Fleur. What have you told Hermione about this?"

That was a difficult question. Hermione knew pretty much everything that Fleur could tell her about veela courtship and love. She was doing her own research and short of a conversation (that would never, ever happen) between Fleur's grandmere and Hermione, Fleur could tell her very little else. "She knows what I know."

"Are you going to give me grandchildren?"

The door to her rooms creaked loudly as it opened and Fleur turned to see Hermione carefully closing the door behind her. She was suddenly very grateful that her mother had asked that question in French, as she was bright red as it was. Hermione did not need to hear her mother talking about … about _children_.

She swallowed.

The idea was a little terrifying.

They were far, far too young to even be considering that sort of thing.

"Maman, Hermione is here," Fleur said quietly, waving at Hermione and trying to shoo her out of view of the fireplace. She had a feeling that this meeting would happen eventually, but she did not think that meeting a parent of one's lover over the floo was the best way to go about it. She would rather just take Hermione home, give her a chance to see Gabrielle and all sorts of embarrassing pictures that her mother was sure to bring up for this very occasion. It was better that way.

Her mother's eyes sparkled dangerously when Fleur mentioned Hermione's name, and Fleur quickly added, "I need to go."

_Please let that be good enough. Please let me just go._

"No, bring her here; I want to meet this girl."


	35. Act Four, Scene Change One, Interlude

**Golden Haze, Act Four, Scene Change One, Interlude**

**AN:** Guys, guys guys guys guys. We've crowed 100,000 in hits! ONE HUNDRED THOUSAND HITS. HOLY SHIT. I have never written something that was this popular, or this well received before. You guys have done it for me, done everything. I am so glad that you guys like this story as much as you do. It means a TON to me.

About this chapter – I wanted to do an interlude from Hermione's POV, but directly seguing into the conversation with Fleur's mother seemed rather silly, as one might ask one's self – why change the point of view at all? It didn't make any sense to me, so I decided to do it this way; hopefully it works as well for you guys as it does for me.

Music of the story – None, I've been watching A Very Potter Musical so all I've been doing is laughing my ass off.

* * *

Well, that had been _unexpected_, to say the least. Hermione Granger shook soot from her hair and tried not to think about how colossally stupid she had just sounded while speaking to Fleur's mother – who did not speak English nearly as well as her daughter and therefore relied quite a bit on Fleur's quick translations of French phrases that were enough to make Hermione's hair stand up on end. (Not that it wasn't already).

She had come from the Gryffindor Common Room, where Ginny had found her with a letter that had arrived after she'd gone down to dinner. The packet was thick, and they'd sat on the sofa in front of the fire as Hermione read about her acceptance, pending NEWT scores naturally, to the Wizarding University of Cairo into their human and creature anthropology program. She was ecstatic, and as Ginny hugged her and Ron clapped her excitedly on the back, everything felt oddly _normal_ once again. She and Fleur had talked about how Cairo would be perfect for both of their needs, as Fleur needed to go back into the field after her sabbatical from Gringotts and the bank certainly was not about to allow her to work at the central branch when she had once been married to one of their chief in-house curse breakers.

Goblins, Fleur had explained, do not like controversy and do not like workplace romance.

Hermione had told Fleur that she never intended to get a job at the bank, and that she did not think she'd have them after that nasty business during the war.

Still, she had been excited and had wanted to tell Fleur right away. She'd hurriedly told Harry the news when he came in from wherever it was that he'd gone after dinner and he'd hugged her tightly and told her that he'd miss her in auror training, provided he passed the test. Hermione had laughed at that, told him he already had a job at the ministry and had since potentially his fourth year, and he'd grinned right back at her.

Harry told her happy news, Hermione said her goodnights for the evening. It was something of a nightly tradition that had gotten started just after the Christmas Holidays. Ginny, as was now her habit, had given her an odd look as she left. She was still warming up to the relationship that Hermione had with Fleur, despite the fact that Bill was happier than Hermione had seen him in years and there was talk about him actually bringing his, as Fleur put it, 'mysterious Welshman' around for dinner to meet his family.

Some things, like her parents slow acceptance of so many aspects of her life, just take time.

From everything Ron and Ginny had told her about Bill, he'd always tried to be as open as possible about his sexuality with his parents, but his mother simply would not hear of it. Not from her firstborn, Ginny had said in a startlingly good impression of Mrs. Weasley, never from her firstborn. Hermione was fairly certain that it was a foregone conclusion at this point – and she and Fleur had already agreed that if Bill's heir problem had not been sorted out by the time they settled down to have a family, that they would name him the godfather of one of their children. Hermione liked to think that it was a very clever plan.

Hermione had bid Harry and Ron a good night and had taken her school bag with her on the way down to Fleur's rooms. She had now mastered a route that would let her avoid the prefect patrols as well as the solitary teacher patrols as curfew drew closer. She refused to abuse her prefect's badge to see Fleur, it hardly seemed proper considering what they got up to most nights.

Fleur was talking to someone over the floo when Hermione had come into her rooms. The door creaked loudly as she closed it and Hermione had to stifle a smile at the image of Fleur leaning forward into the flames, her body half-way gone to wherever it was that she was talking to. Hermione had closed the door behind her, and when Fleur's hand made a shooing motion out of the fire's field of view, she'd moved out of sight with a scowl on her face. She did not like being hidden.

Looking back on it, however, it probably would have been a far smarter idea to just remain hidden. Fleur's mother was a force of nature, half trying to convince Fleur to just come through the floo (despite their lack of the necessary permits) and properly introduce Hermione. She'd been intimidated, taken aback by the forwardness of Fleur's mother. Fleur's mother asked about complicated veela rituals that Hermione barely understood and many she had questions about Hermione herself that were far too invasive to actually be relevant and pertinent information that Fleur's mother actually needed to know.

She did not think that Fleur truly understood the questions on the veela rituals, but when Fleur's mother had seen the glint of the ice blue teardrops that Hermione had given Fleur at Christmas in Fleur's ears, she had smiled knowingly and had said nothing more about such rituals. Hermione had resolved to ask Fleur what _that _had meant when Fleur's mother had suddenly become far more approving of Hermione in general.

Hermione sighed; twisting to turn and fix Fleur with what she hoped was not too accusatory of a stare. "Your mother is rather intense," she confessed.

Fleur laughed, all the tension that had accumulated in her face since she pulled Hermione through the fireplace and into her mother's kitchen. She looked so much like her mother, Hermione realized, staring at Fleur. The veela heritage was even more evident in Fleur's mother, her features even more inhuman, more birdlike and breathtakingly beautiful. Fleur did not have her nose or lips, however. Hermione wondered what Fleur's father looked like.

"I am sorry for that," Fleur said, reaching out to gently touch Hermione's hair. "I 'ad not expected that to take so long. She 'as a way of keeping you talking…"

Hermione shook her head. "No, I'm glad that you're talking to her, Fleur."

She was extremely glad. Fleur's family was so core to her very being that to have her be without them since her wedding to Bill Weasley was something that deeply disturbed Hermione. She could not understand why they had shut her out, and had meant to demand an explanation from Fleur's mother, but had been silenced with a look.

"It is a good thing, yes," Fleur mused. She ran her hands through her hair, grey ash and soot falling from it and onto the hearthrug. "We 'ave not spoken in so long, sometimes I forget why it was we did not speak."

"There was a war on." Hermione pointed out. _Among other things._

"Ah, oui, war." Fleur agreed. Hermione reached up and brushed a final fleck of ash off of Fleur's cheek, watching as its black soot trail vanished under the gentle touch of her fingers.

It was strange looking at Fleur after seeing her mother. Fleur was so normal looking, so completely and utterly human looking. She was still completely stunning, but decidedly human in appearance and it gave Hermione pause. "You look a lot like your mum," Hermione said after a minute of simply staring at her girlfriend. "But your features are more…" she trailed off trying to find a way to put it politely.

"They are more 'uman," Fleur finished for her.

Hermione nodded, afraid of what to say. Fleur could have that look, if she was upset or angry – if the haze took her. Hermione had seen that wild and avian look when Fleur had burst through the door of that empty house, saving Hermione from the horror of her mind. She had not thought about it much since then, but the stark comparison between Fleur and her mother made it almost impossible to ignore.

"That is the dilution of the blood," Fleur explained, she had stood up and had picked up the small wire-bristle broom that was sitting just off to the side of the fireplace and had begun to sweep the ash that they'd brushed off themselves back into the fireplace. "There are some things that the blood does not dilute -" she trailed off, staring into space, not really looking at Hermione or anything in particular.

"How you shift… the need for children…" Hermione said quietly. It had been bothered her ever since Fleur had explained how this was one of the key ways that her body and mind were different from that of a human. It was one of the most bizarre things that she had ever heard. Fleur explained to her how the drive to mate worked within a veela's mind.

Fleur nodded. It was a hard thing to wrap one's brain around, Hermione knew this. Fleur had tried her best to explain, really she had, but it was only through all the books the library had to offer as well as a few that Hermione had special ordered from various bookstores that she'd truly been able to start to understand.

There was no way around it. They would have to have a child, if not to save the social standing of Fleur's family within the veela community, then for Fleur's own sanity. Hermione was by no means perfect, and the thought of having children scared her like nothing else. She had seen death, she had seen families ripped apart by war, and she did not want to immediately go and start to repopulate the wizarding world for the next generation. To do so seemed oddly foolish. She'd told Fleur all of this and Fleur had laughed and said that doing it now would be foolish for both of their careers and lives, but in the future, it had to happen.

Hermione had decided that she was okay with that.

Hermione thought for a moment. She'd never asked Fleur this question, but it was one that she'd thought about herself several times, when her mind idled long enough to have a brief period of whimsy. "If we do, hypothetically, have a child Fleur… what would you name it?"

Fleur looked taken aback. She moved across the room to stand by the window, her eyes never meeting Hermione's curious gaze. Hermione longed to go to her, seeing her stand there and look so vulnerable brought a pain to her heart that she could not explain. Fleur was upset, Fleur was hurting. Hermione had to go to her.

"Victoire," Fleur said quietly. "Over so many things, it is fitting, non?"

Hermione crosses the room then and throws her arms around Fleur, kissing her and not caring that she still had soot all over her shoulders.

Fleur's lips were warm against her own, and there was a salty taste to Fleur's kiss that Hermione knew meant tears. Hermione pulled away, ever so slightly to whisper, "I will always love you."

Fleur kissed her then, pushing her against the cool of the window, her lips hot and urgent and it was a long time before Hermione was able to think about much of anything.

Later, their bodies twined together, naked and sweaty, Hermione asked Fleur the question that had been bothering her ever since her rather abrupt meeting with Fleur's mother. "Why was your mother so satisfied-looking when she saw the earrings I got you for Christmas?

Fleur looked up from where she had been toying with the curl of Hermione's hair, "It is said that when a veela's mate gives their veela jewelry, it is a sign of devotion and a symbol of fidelity."

"Oh." Hermione said quietly. She had not known that. It had certainly not been in any of the books that she had read over the past few months.

Fleur shifted so that she was in a more upright position, leaning on her elbow to examine Hermione critically. "It is a promise – like an engagement ring of sorts."

Now Hermione was officially confused, not to mention _very _taken aback. She hadn't intended to give Fleur something like that. Not with such a meaning. Not so soon. It was not as though she would not love to spend the rest of her life with this beautiful, thoughtful, and incredibly talented woman, it was more that she had never really thought about it in the finality that Fleur always spoke of. With a veela, all of her books had told her, there was no turning back. Their love was complete and absolute. There was no way to get around such burning devotion, and even fewer who wished it so.

"I don't want to get married right after school Fleur," Hermione sighed. It was a dumb thing to say, but necessary. "I want to go to Cairo, I want to travel, and I want to _see_ this world that I help to save."

"I 'ad no intention of asking for a while," Fleur admitted. Her eyes were soft and her expression calm. "But the erm – o'zer issue is one that will not go away."

Hermione laughed, "I'm sure that we will. We're quite smart, the both of us."

Fleur grinned, "Oui, I believe we are."


	36. Act Four, Scene Three

**Golden Haze, Act Four, Scene Three**

**AN:** Guys, this is it. The plan is in motion. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did writing it. Fleur is nervous, she can't ask her questions, Jones is in the way, but it is coming to an end. Part one of two of the finale, and then an interlude and then the ending. Let me know if I've left any major plot holes. I'm working on revising Act Two with Crosswood (we're currently on chapter 15), who is a lovely beta, and I have another project in the works that I'm sure you guys will love as much as Golden Haze.

I think you'll enjoy this. :)

Shout to the reviewers and new watchers of this story. Really grateful that you guys took the time to read what is turning into the longest and most popular story that I've ever written.

Music of the Story - Enter Sandman - Metallica (duel) and Lovesong - Tori Amos (date)

* * *

There was a sense of trepidation that came with the passage of time into February. The days turned icily cold and Jones' letters continued to come. Sick and twisted verse, penned in ink and blood and failure; she could not stand it. Nervous, chapped lips chew hesitantly on the tip of a goose feather quill, carefully contemplating the logic of completing such a request.

Fleur Delacour sighed, long fingers setting the pen down on the desk before her, reading over the letter that she had just completed, contemplating phrasing and the justification of each and every word. The language still bothered her when she wrote, and each piece of writing had to be carefully examined for verb tense and agreement.

A small box rested on the desk near her elbow, its contents had not been examined since it had arrived in a package from France several weeks before. She felt almost afraid to touch it, afraid to know what was in it and to actually contemplate what the implication of giving it would be. Her mother's note was still tucked into the faded brown paper the parcel had been wrapped in, elegant looped letters proclaiming that her intent must be pure.

She did not know if she was ready. She was still young; there was still a youthful spring to her step that the war could not take away from her. She had lived through the worst of it, and yet she had not escaped unscathed. There were deep wounds on her heart and in her psyche because of the actions she had taken during the war. She was hardly innocent and her intentions were hardly pure.

She was a monster, she wanted to claim ownership of the girl that she had fallen in love with at seventeen – she was twenty-one now. She was fully capable of the control that she tried to boast around that girl, but she had lost it.

The malice in Jones' letters was not lost on her, and she worried on her already chapped lips as she thought about how easily Jones had driven her to lose the control she had so carefully clung to for so long. Veela are predators, she was raised knowing that fact. They are violent and they defend their mate to the death if need be. She knew these facts, but the taste of blood from the split in her lip that she had worried on was a stark reminder that she could do nothing.

The holiday was fast approaching and Fleur's fingers closed around her quill once more time, adding another line with a time of arrival. She surveyed it, concentrating hard for a moment before licking her lips and reaching for her sealing wax. It was next to the box that she'd been eyeing all night, nervous energy filling her every time her eyes fell upon it. It was Hermione's, rightfully; Fleur was just waiting for the right moment – the moment that she feared would never come.

She was a coward; her worried and chapped lips and anxiety over even requesting the reservation for the holiday were a testament to that. She did not know what was wrong with her, where her confidence had gone. Her nerves were frayed, and her eyes full of fear that only dissipated when Hermione slipped into her rooms and into her arms after hours. She had not voiced her fears to Hermione, not after the resolute way that Hermione had told Fleur that they would have to leave the safe haven of Hogwarts to bring Jones down.

Safe, that was a laughable concept. Nowhere was safe, not with Jones still at large and a constant threat to their very safety.

Veela are predators. They defend their mates to the death.

The sick feeling in her stomach returned and she moved the sealing wax to sit in the flame of the single candle that she had lit in order to write this letter before Hermione rose for the morning. The warm smell of it met her nose and her nostrils flared, taking in the harsh scent and relishing how it jerked wakefulness into her senses.

The wax smeared when she pressed it onto the back of her letter and Fleur scowled, pressing her family's seal into the melted glob of wax and waiting until it dried before pulling it away. She eyed the box one more time, before sweeping it and her sealing wax back into her desk drawer and rising to greet the school owl that waited just outside the window.

She pulled aside the curtain and hissed as the cold air that had been hiding behind it hit her naked skin. The window was the next step, and by the time she'd unfastened it and pulled it open, her skin was covered in gooseflesh. "Take this to River Run," Fleur whispered to the bird, naming the bistro just off the beaten path in Hogsmeade. She shivered as the owl took the letter and hooted quietly at her before taking off into the growing dawn.

Fleur Delacour watched the bird go and shivered once before closing the window.

Valentine's Day was just a week away.

x

"I understand zat zere are a great number of 'earts and the like around ze castle," her voice cut across the room as her third year class of Ravenclaws and Slytherins took notes. Her accent was exaggerated, as were her movements. She was going for effect here, and she was very good at creating a mood when she set her mind to it. She paused at the front of the room, tapping her wand thoughtfully on her leg. This was the last class before the weekend.

Valentine's Day weekend.

She had told Hermione to not make any plans and Hermione had eyed her with some trepidation before agreeing to allow Fleur to surprise her. There was a sense of wonderment in the girl's eyes, and Fleur once again thought of the box in her desk drawer.

She bit her lip and turned to face her class once more, forcing her best smile onto her face. Valentine's Day was not until Sunday, and as such, the headmistress had delayed the usual Saturday Hogsmeade visit to the following day. Fleur had actually voiced her objection to the change during the past staff meeting, saying that students needed the Sunday to complete their schoolwork so as not to fall behind. Inwardly, however, she was hoping that her objection would be ignored and was grateful when it was.

The coward's way out, it seemed, was not in store for her this holiday.

"Please do not forget that you 'ave a test on Monday. This test is one that a mere glance over your notes will not prepare you for." Her voice had turned hard and steely, the veela coloring her every word. Her eyes flashed dangerously as one of the boys who was forever acting out snickered behind his hands. He balked under her glare, his hands falling to rest on the desk before him and his expression carefully neutral.

A sly smile spread across her face and she winced as her already chapped and worn lips cracked under the strain of moving them upwards into such a predatory expression. She turned her back to the class and licked the blood that had blossomed at the wound away and resolved to go and see about getting a salve to help them to heal before the holiday. Fleur began to lecture again, not caring that there was ten minutes left in her class and she did not have the attention of her students.

This is what she felt her strength was as an educator. She could be firm, and yet kind in her teaching style. Her students seemed to greatly enjoy her lessons, especially the younger ones. Fleur reasoned it was because they were too young to truly realize what she was, and therefore were able to fully concentrate on their work.

She demonstrated another charm that might help one repel a kappa if one were to get stuck in a bog containing the brittle-fingered creatures, and her students seemed rather impressed. She promised that they would all practice the spell after the weekend, provided their scores on the test on Monday were satisfactory.

"Class is dismissed," she said after a few more moments of lecture and trying not to worry on her lips or think of the box in her desk drawer. "'ave a fun weekend in town."

"Professor, are you coming to Hogsmeade?" One of the girls that Fleur actually enjoyed conversing with on occasion asked. She was wide-eyed and her hair was falling out of its braid as she gathered her books and put them haphazardly into her school bag, but Fleur could see the intelligence in her face. She loved the children here, and felt a pang in her heart when she thought of them having to live through the previous year at Hogwarts.

They were just babies; it was hardly fair to force them though a war the way that the entire school had been dragged through it. She hoped they did not have too many nightmares.

Fleur shrugged, her shoulders almost touching her ears as she drew her over robe more closely around her – the chill of the hallway had started to creep into the room as her students filed out. "We will see," she said, her tone airy and her words as deliberately vague as possible.

She did not need the third years gossiping about her love life.

x

The box was burning a hole in her jacket pocket as Fleur checked that her wand was carefully tucked into its holster on her wrist. Her fingers dropped down, trailing along the outline of the knife in her boot. She was not going to think about Jones today, but she would be ready, should he chose to show himself. The feeling of dread came from the box, from the threat of Jones, from what she was planning to ask Hermione later tonight.

Her fingers trailed upwards, touching the black muggle jeans that she'd worn what seemed like years ago when she'd met William on the first Hogsmeade weekend in September and surveying her reflection in the mirror. Pants tucked into boots and a long sweater that she'd wrapped a belt around after some experimentation earlier made her look far older than her age.

_You_ _can do this._ The promise rang out like a mantra in her mind, and she repeated it over and over before pulling on a knit cap and adjusting her long coat. She looked like a skinny girl who had no idea how to dress herself, Fleur scowled at her reflection. The mirror informed her that her face would stick that way and Fleur turned away from it with disgust. Sometimes she hated magical mirrors.

Hermione would be waiting. The box ached in her coat's pocket and Fleur pushed all the thoughts of it as far from her conscious mind as she could. There was no way around it, she was full of nervous energy and had no way of dispelling it before she had to, once again, find herself in a position of bringing up an aspect of veela existence that she had so carefully hidden up until this point.

After the rather abrupt conversation with her mother, Fleur had sat Hermione down and told her as much as she had cared to learn about how veela mating worked. Her mother, before Hermione had come into the room, had filled her in on a few of the finer details that she had (perhaps willingly) chosen to ignore. She hated that she was not giving Hermione a choice, but Hermione did not seem to want a choice and when Fleur had touched the earrings that Hermione had given her for Christmas, Hermione had just _known. _Intent was everything to a veela and Hermione had known what they had meant to the monster that rested just inside of her without Fleur even having to explain anything to the younger woman.

For that, Fleur mused, she was eternally grateful.

She pinned her cloak into place and cast a warming charm over herself before glancing at her reflection one more time – realizing it was hopeless; and departing from her rooms.

She had not seen the haze in weeks now. The golden flickers at the edge of her vision came not around Hermione, but around Jones' constant threats and letters. She was taking a large and calculated risk, departing the castle with Hermione like she was now. The end result, she reasoned, was most certainly worth the risk of leaving.

The haze was gone from her, leaving her only with the feeling of complete contentment and oneness that she had not felt since she was a child. Veela heritage manifests itself at puberty, Gabrielle would be experiencing it soon enough and Fleur longed to be able to hold her sister as her body changed violently from what she had spent all of her twelve years getting used to. That time would come soon enough, and Fleur would be there this time. She refused to hide from her family any longer.

The box in her pocket was testament to that.

Hermione was waiting at the foot of the stairs, standing among many of students who were leaving for the later Hogsmeade departure date. They were being escorted down to the village by officials and aurors sent by the Ministry of Magic, who feared that Jones would attack at any moment. Fleur was grateful for their presence, but not for the large numbers of students that had clogged the Entrance Hall.

With a jerk of her head, she caught Hermione's eye and motioned with her hand that they should go out the main doors and meet walking down together. As they were both adults, the officials could not stop them from departing as they were 'old enough' to understand the risks of leaving the protections of the castle.

The late afternoon air was bitterly cold and Fleur waited until Hermione fell into step beside her before casting a strong warming charm on herself and her date. She turned then, smiling brightly at Hermione. "I 'ad not anticipated so many leaving at this time."

Hermione laughed then, and Fleur fell in love with her all over again. She could hear Hermione laugh for days and never tire of the sound – light and happy and so full of joy at merely being alive. "It is Valentine's Day," Hermione pointed out as they walked around the great memorial to all those who had died in the battle here. "School full of teenagers and all that."

At that comment they both laughed and Fleur held out her hand to Hermione, who took it with gloved fingers. "I am surprised," Fleur said quietly, "That you 'ave not asked me where we are going."

From under the layers of fabric that covered her body, it was almost impossible to see the shrug of Hermione's shoulders. "I like surprises."

"Do you now?" Fleur smiled inwardly. She suddenly glad she had more than one surprise up her sleeve this evening. "Then you are in for a treat tonight," she added mysteriously at Hermione turned to watch her with wide and intelligent eyes.

Oh yes, tonight was going to be _fun._

x

The bistro was not at all crowded and Fleur was grateful for it as they ate and talked. They lingered there, for longer than Fleur would have thought possible, staring into each other's eyes and just watching each other. The food was good and the wine was even better. There was an essence – something so incredibly romantic in their long and drawn out moments together in that small hole-in-the-wall bistro – that Fleur could not assign a name to. All she could think about was how she wanted to prove herself to Hermione. Prove that she was worthy of this girl who had stolen her heart without a second thought.

When they finished eating and their conversation had lulled to the point where Fleur could speak with body language alone, they agreed to depart. Fleur did not trust herself to speak, not with the question burning on her lips as it was throughout dinner. There were things still unspoken between them, things that Fleur knew she would play out along the curve of Hermione's hips and the swell of her breast when they were safely behind locked and warded doors once again. She longed to touch Hermione, ached to feel Hermione's skin under her hands and lips and teeth.

This was the predator that rested inside of her. The sexual being that Fleur Delacour had never known herself to be had emerged in the recent weeks, taking ownership and control over the passion that Fleur felt for Hermione and changing it into something truly beautiful.

She helped Hermione into her cloak and told her to go and wait outside while she settled the bill. There was a protest on Hermione's lips, and her hand was half-way into her pocket for her own wallet before Fleur stopped her. ""ermione this is my gift to you."

"But," Hermione said, fiddling with her wallet, still mostly inside her pocket.

Fleur shook her head. "I will see you outside in a moment."

The hostess smiled at the exchange and Fleur grinned back at her as she her fingers brushed against the box in her long coat before her fingers closed around the galleons she'd put there. She had no idea when she was going to give Hermione its contents. Maybe on the way back, in the middle of the snow and the cold and the promise of warmth just moments away. Yes, that was the ticket.

"Romantic date?" The hostess asked, taking the money that Fleur offered her and ringing in their ticket into the ancient cash register that was tucked just out of sight of the main dining room. "Glad you chose us."

"You were 'ighly recommended." Fleur said honestly, thinking about how Peter Townsend and even the headmistress herself had suggested this place. The food had been to die for, and the atmosphere had been charming without being too over the top.

The evening, thus far, had been perfect.

"Well, do come back," The hostess said, counting back Fleur's change and handing her a handwritten receipt. Fleur tucked the contents into her pocket and nodded her thanks.

There was a loud bang outside and Fleur felt the rosy color that had been resting on her cheeks since she had first seen Hermione in the Entrance Hall earlier that evening drain from her face. She turned, her wand already in her hand and her coat and cloak swirling behind her, and hurried out of the bistro.

It was bitterly cold and snowing outside when Fleur pushed the door open. She did not bother with her usual warming charm, her eyes searching the side street for Hermione. Her girlfriend was nowhere to be seen, and the street seemed to be completely deserted.

Fleur scowled, her wand alight and raised over her head as she squinted into the darkness.

Another bang sounded from just to her left and Fleur wordlessly cast a _grande lumos,_ the entire street swimming into view under the force of her spell. While the incantation was not the same as the one that was taught at Hogwarts, the effect was similar to lumos maxima; and a small ball of Fleur's magic hovered above the street, bathing it in pale blue light.

Hermione was standing, her wand raised and a shielding spell so complicated and powerful that it hurt Fleur's eyes to look at it as the one barrier between herself and the onslaught that was coming from – Fleur's blood ran cold – the wand of Jones. The villain of the day stood in a tattered coat blowing in the stiff wind, his attacks were erratic and powerful, but Hermione's shield charm was holding strong.

"'ermione," her voice shook.

Maniacal laughter unlike any that Fleur had ever heard before ran through the cold night air and Fleur shivered despite her coat and cloak. "The creature itself finally decides to show up!" Jones turned, his assault on Hermione's shielding charms halting temporarily as Hermione quickly dived behind a low garden wall. The stone and obviously warded wall would at least, Fleur hoped, provide her with some cover. "I was beginning to think that you were going to leave her to her own devices."

Fleur scowled and held her wand ready. "She is more than capable of taking care of 'erself." Her control felt like it was slipping, like she was becoming more veela, but as the transformation and shift happened, Fleur realized that it was not the veela taking over but rather her own body taking on a more powerful form.

Veela will always fight to the death to defend their mates.

So this was what oneness felt like.

Her wand was clenched in between fused and still lengthening fingers and her back itched under sweater as the feathers started to sprout from the skin there. Fleur's eyes narrowed, "I believe your business is with me," she hissed. "Leave the girl out of this."

Jones' face, the scars across it clearly visible under the light of the _grande lumos_, lit up then and he began to cluck his tongue. "Now, now, pretty creature – we cannot having you losing your precious control over yourself. You could _hurt_ someone."

"I will 'urt you." Fleur spat venomously and brought her wand down and across her body, firing off cutting curses as quickly as she could, knowing that her window to take him by surprise would only be so long. He was a madman, and his movements were irregular. She did not know how likely he was to bring an unforgivable curse into their duel. His movements suggested classical training, which said that he would not bring such spells into the fight. Fleur doubted that he had the mental stamina for them anyway.

Intent was everything in such situations and Jones' lack of coherency in motion suggested far too loose a grip on reality to actually pull off the more complicated unforgivables.

She felt good then, in control as her spells cut the air around Jones before dissipating uselessly at his shields. Perhaps this was what came with being truly one. She inhaled and then exhaled, shifting her body weight ever so slightly, watching as Jones swayed on his feet before he too moved into a ready stance.

"It seems you can't," Jones growled, his dirty clothes and scarred countenance filling Fleur with worry that she had not felt since Hermione's sudden disappearance and their subsequent discovery of her being kidnapped. "Foolish girl, thinking you can get in the way of my plan." His wand twisted upwards and Fleur was thrown from her feet, her body jolting upwards off of the rapidly changing earth under her feet.

_Elemental spell, interesting._ Those took concentration that Fleur did not think that Jones possessed in this state, obviously the crazed swaying was his dueling style, not reflective of his mental state.

Fleur landed on one knee, hissing in pain and skidding backwards through the snow on the street before finally coming to a rest. Her wand was already preforming the motions for the most complicated and powerful shield charm she knew. She was going to need defense if Jones was going to be unpredictable like that.

"Aquium," Fleur could have sworn that she heard the voice in her head, rather than from Hermione's hiding place behind the warded wall, wand watched as Jones was taken by surprise by the jet of scalding water that came out of the end of Hermione's wand. The stream hit him squarely in the stomach, just inside his open jacket and he shrieked as he fell to the ground, rolling through the snow to cool his burns.

Fleur stood, her arm twisting as she cast a binding spell that would hold Jones in place long enough for them to run and get the aurors from the local Department of Magical Law Enforcement branch. Their offices were just off the main road, maybe five minutes on foot. Fleur did not trust Jones to not shake off their spells and vanish into nothingness once again. No, this time, they had to make sure that he could not flee.

Jones' form stopped writhing on the ground as the ropes of Fleur's spell appeared around him, trapping him and forcing him motionless. "You can't hold me," he wheezed as Fleur took a few hesitant steps forward. Hermione had also climbed over the wall and was advancing with her wand at the ready.

"Are you alright?" Fleur asked quietly as Hermione drew level with her. She reached out to brush the hair off of Hermione's forehead, noting with a sudden surge of protectiveness and hatefulness that there was a small cut along Hermione's hairline.

Hermione nodded. "A bit shaken, but yes."

They had kept their distance from Jones, but as they spoke, the man's body began to shake, his laughter coming in short, wheezing breaths. "She'll leave you, you know."

Hermione's wand lowered, ever so slightly, "Excuse me?" she demanded.

"All veela are the same. They say that they are in love, but they never truly are," Jones spat out every word, his voice shaking as Fleur twisted her wrist, just outside of Hermione's field of view, trying to silence him before he spoke again. She did not need Hermione worried. "They lie to you, tell you the story of their one great love, but all they love is themselves. They're no better than beasts, completely incapable of human love."

As Jones finished speaking, three things happened in such quick succession that Fleur was unsure the order that everything had truly taken place in later when she recalled the incident. The binding spell that she had been tightly closing around Jones shattered as Fleur could not contain the violent and alien cry that escaped her lips. No, she would not have it. Jones was a liar.

Gold tinged her vision as Jones twisted on the ground, his wand outstretched and moving in the downwards trajectory of a cutting curse. The blood red bold of light shot out of the end of his wand just as Fleur reached out to grab Hermione's arm and pull her down and out of its way. Her fingers closed around Hermione's jacket, but it was too late, the magic hit Hermione's arm and Fleur felt her heart stop as Hermione shrieked, clutching at the wound.

"Better you know now she does not truly love you," Jones spat as Hermione sank to the ground, whimpering.

Fleur could not pause for Hermione, not when the treat was so close. "Accio knife," She hissed, feeling the worn handle slip into her fingers, dislodged from her boot and at the ready. Her eyes narrowed to slit and she twisted her body, throwing the knife with all her might into Jones' chest.

Her aim was true, and that only seemed to fuel her rage as Fleur advanced on Jones. His hand was grasping at the hilt of the Damascus steel blade, trying to pull it from his chest. Fleur drew level with him, clawed fingers closing around the hilt of the weapon and twisting it. It would not be enough to kill him, a muggle perhaps, but not a wizard.

She raised her wand and met Jones' eyes evenly, staring into his hateful gaze with her golden-tinged one. He was slightly cross-eyed as she rested her wand on the bridge of his nose and hissed, "_Adamornor_."


	37. Act Four, Scene Four

**Golden Haze, Act Four, Scene Four**

AN: One short interlude and one epilogue and this journey is done. This story has been so hard to write, this chapter especially. There's fall out from Jone, and the inevitable conclusion. It's Valentine's Day still and Fleur has just one chance to make it real between the two of them.

Sorry for the delay getting this out. I'm moving soon and this month has been hell for me so far. Hopefully as I get settled and moved in, I'll be able to finish this.

Music of the Story: Calvin Harris - Bounce

* * *

The aurors found them a few minutes later, Jones trembling at Fleur's feet, her breathing hard and Hermione's wound carefully bandaged as best as Fleur could manage with the dittany that Hermione had in her (seemingly) bottomless purse. Despite the fact that she was wounded, Hermione's lips were pulled upwards into a smug smile. Fleur shook her head at first when Hermione let out a triumphant hiss of barely-restrained excitement when Jones crumpled under the spell that had once driven Hermione the vision to truly understand how deeply Fleur cared for her.

All this had been Hermione's plan, and Fleur could not help but feel a swell of pride as her girlfriend had grinned triumphantly at Hermione as she bandaged her arm. "I can't believe that worked," Hermione said, her voice shaking a little bit from the cold and pain. Her arm was slick with blood and she was shivering as Fleur tried to shield her from the stiff wind that had blown up small snow squalls up and down the road.

"You are quite brilliant, 'ermione," Fleur whispered as the first of the aurors ran towards them. Fleur felt alarmed at their rapid approach, but she understood that her reaction was that of a predator, not of a human. They were coming to help.

Still, Fleur could not contain the impulse to at least level the odds against her and whispered 'nox;' once more plunging them into darkness. The aurors were quickly spelling the streetlights back to life as they hurried onto the scene and Fleur wrapped her arms protectively around Hermione.

Veela were predators, they protected their mates at all costs.

"What happened here?" The first witch demanded, her wand alight and her hair flying every which way under her fedora. Fleur recognized her as one of the ones who had escorted students down to the village earlier. She lowered her wand to Jones' bound and shaking form and gasped, Jones' face had been on a lot of 'wanted' posters in recent weeks. "He attacked you?"

Hermione nodded and recognition dawned on the auror's face as she took in Hermione, her injured arm. "We were coming out of the restaurant over there." She pointed with her good arm and Fleur tried to relax and will herself to calm down enough that the transformation would fade. The press would be on them like vultures in a few minutes and Fleur did not want them to see her like this. The media was notorious for sensationalizing veela and their culture.

"Miss Granger," The auror began with some trepidation, casting diagnostic spells over Jones. Fleur looked up, alarmed, but the logical and human side of her reasoned that Hermione was a fairly well-known individual because of everything that she did during the war and that it was not a stretch for this auror to know her name. "Could you tell me what spell you used on him?"

Fleur exhaled, hesitating only for a moment before Hermione nodded encouragingly at her. "I did it, actually," she said. Her voice shook and her English was far more accented than she wanted. "It is a self-defense spell,_ adamor_."

"I haven't heard of it," The auror said quietly.

Hermione nodded. "You probably haven't. I had not until the beginning of the school year-" she glanced at Fleur, who grinned cheekily at her before forcing her face into a more serious expression. The spell had other uses, yes, but when used in self-defense the images it projected were not the pleasant (overtly sexual) ones that Hermione had experienced when Fleur used the spell on her at the beginning of the school year. "it is Bulgarian in origin, it projects the images of a victim's mind into the attacker – more useful with women as it was designed as a deterrent to rape."

The auror nodded and stood, turning to the other aurors who had cordoned off the scene and were beginning to take magical photographs of the evidence of the duel and of Jones' twitching body. A few had begun to cast wards around the area and one was combing through the debris from one of Jones' cutting curses with an interested look on his face. As the auror walked away from the two of them, Hermione shivered.

"What did he mean by that?" She asked Fleur. Her eyes were wide and brown and full of questions that Fleur was only just beginning to understand the answers to. "You can never love truly?"

Fleur sighed, and pulled Hermione to her feet, careful of her injured arm. Their bodies brushed against each other and Fleur tried and failed to suppress the blush that rose to her cheeks as Hermione leaned up to kiss cheek once they were both standing. "Draco Malfoy 'as a theory that Jones was wronged by a veela, once upon a time." She shrugged off her cloak and draped it around Hermione's shoulders, tying it closed with (thankfully) human fingers. "'e does not know what 'e is talking about."

Declaring Jones to be an under-informed idiot was one thing, but Fleur knew she had to do more. Hermione was too scientific, too analytical of a mind to accept what Fleur was saying at face value and without a question. She shoved her hands into her pockets, thinking that it was no or never. The box was in her pocket and Fleur's fingers closed around it, pulling it out and pressing it into Hermione's good hand. "This is not the most romantic of occasions, but with what Jones 'as said, I need to – I must - give this to you now."

Hermione fingered the box, contemplating it for a moment before shaking her head. Fleur's heart plummeted as she quietly closed the box and made to hand it back to Fleur. "I told you that I did not want to get married for a while."

Fleur laughed, taking the box and opening it back up for Hermione. "It is not that at all," she explained. "When you gave me those earrings at Christmas, I realized something, non?" She pulled out the intricately carved pewter ring that had been in her family for generations. "This is yours – it is tradition and it 'as no meaning other than to say that you are my mate and that you 'ave acknowledged your claim of me as I 'ave claimed you." She took the ring in her hand and grinned at Hermione. "If you want it more simply: you gave me jewelry, now I am giving you jewelry back."

Laughing, Hermione held out her good hand – her right hand, and Fleur pushed the ring onto her finger and watched as it shrank to fit. There was old magic in the ring, veela magic that Fleur could not even begin to understand. It accepted only true love and the purest of intentions. "I think I can accept that."

"It 'as been in my family for generations," Fleur explained in a hushed voice. She did not want the aurors overhearing what they were discussing. "Passed down from eldest daughter to eldest daughter."

Hermione reached up, the pewter on her finger cold against Fleur's cheek. "Thank you," she whispered, brushing a kiss against Fleur's lips.

The aurors converged around them then and they were separated to give statements in the quiet warmth of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement's local office. Fleur watched the fire as she answered the questions of the investigators. No, she had not attacked Jones maliciously, he had cut Hermione with a sudden curse and the spell was the only thing that she could think of in such a short period of time. She explained what the spell meant, how it functioned, and cited as many sources as she could remember studying in school on various self-defense spells. (Beauxbatons was a girls' school, they leaned to protect themselves from unwanted attention as early as their third year.)

"Ms. Delacour, I understand that it is late and that your – ah – _friend_ – was wounded in the fight but you must complete your statement before too much time has passed – so that your memories are clearest," The witch giving the interview explained.

Fleur raised her want to her head and concentrated, pulling out the silvery wisp of memory from among silvery-blond strands of hair. "Will zis satisify 'ou?" she asked with deliberate thickness in her accent.

The witch produced a bottle from her pocket and Fleur directed the memory into it without a word, "I'll get this duplicated and entered into evidence and then you can have it back then?"

Fleur nodded, weariness and a longing for her lover – for Hermione – filling every aspect of her being. "I 'ave to teach in the morning, you know."

"Shan't be long," the witch said and vanished behind the locked door.

Groaning, Fleur stretched, her tunic bunching around her stomach before leaning forward and over the low table that filled the room. She hated being cooped up like this, but knew that she had done no wrong and that this was all just procedure.

Was Hermione being looked after? Was someone checking on her arm? Had they called a healer to fully repair what Jones had done? The questions swam in her mind and Fleur half rose before she realized what she was doing. She smiled ruefully and sat back down, aurors were professional above all else. They would take care of Hermione – they would be united as soon as the aurors could arrange it.

x

"Professor Flitwick and I are going to look in on your classes," Minerva McGonagall, clad in tartan dressing gown and a hairnet, folded her arms under her cloak as Hermione and Fleur sleepily made their way back into the castle. It was nearing three o'clock in the morning. Fleur had been allowed to floo the castle at midnight to alert them to the fact that they were still detained and would not be back in the discernable future. "You and Miss Granger both look like you've been through another war. Get some sleep."

It was strange to hear such genuine concern from Minerva McGonagall – the woman was usually far more business-like in her demeanor. Fleur supposed that because they had finally had a confrontation with Jones that she was more at ease than she had been since before this whole ordeal had started.

"Merci, Minerva," Fleur said. Her hand was still entwined with Hermione's and Fleur could see their eyes on her – on them both. She found, as she had done when being interviewed by the aurors, that she did not care. They could judge her for doing what she wanted; she was her own person now. She was no longer tied down by marriage or false laws that invalidated her existence.

They parted ways with the headmistress and headed up the stairs towards both of their rooms. Fleur picked a route through the castle that at least gave them the illusion of returning to their individual sleeping quarters, even if it ass the worst kept secret in all of Hogwarts where Hermione Granger spent her nights.

"Fleur," Hermione began and Fleur turned to face her. She was standing in the middle of the hallway, looking for all the world as though she wanted nothing more than to collapse and sink into the floor. "I wanted to tell you, if you had asked, I would have said yes."

Fleur held out her hand to Hermione with a smile flashing predatorily across her face. "I would never force you," she answered. "You made your reasoning very clear. I respect that. It can wait."

Hermione's face blossomed into a smile and she fingers the ring on her right hand, looking at it for a long moment before asking, "What are we doing?"

_I was under the impression that I was going to take you to bed and attempt to salvage what is left of Valentine's Day_, Fleur thought. She somehow did not think that that was the best response to Hermione's question.

The stood apart, and yet together, staring at each other in the middle of the deserted hallway. Fleur knew that this place held memories for Hermione that she could not even begin to put into words. Fleur had been there for the final battle, but not the buildup, she hadn't seen what it was like to have a place so … so _sacred_ to Hermione desecrated like that.

"I don't know," she said at length.

Wide brown eyes meet her own and Fleur shook her head ever so slightly. They were free, finally. Free of Jones and his threats and nothing could stand between them.

Fleur slung her arm around Hermione's shoulders and pulled her in close. Hermione was warm, pressed against her the way that Fleur had imagined the evening ending. Fleur savored every moment of their bodies like this, close and inter-connected. "Let's find out together, non?" She asked.

Hermione grinned back at her and nodded her agreement.

x

Her body was full of a sense of purpose. Her mind was paying rapt attention to every motion of Hermione, the way that the ring on her finger burned against her skin. Hermione had pushed her down, forced her shirt up and is taking Fleur for all that she is worth.

"'ermione," her voice was breathy. She inhaled deeply, Hermione's fingers relenting momentarily as they stared at each other.

"Yes?"

"Je t'aime," Fleur said in slurred French. She knew that Hermione knew what she was saying, and she wanted it abundantly clear to Hermione that this was the final act. The ring upon Hermione's finger meant far more than she'd readily admitted to Hermione – but its meaning was more for the veela than it was for the mate.

It meant commitment, a consummation of the relationship. Fleur had to have Hermione before the night was out or the contract was null and void. This was the way of the veela, written long ago in a codex so old that the language of the birds graced its cover. There was no way to deviate from what it suggested – simply the way that their bodies moved as one.

"I love you too, Fleur," Hermione said, resting her head against Fleur's shoulder as she pushed her fingers back up and into Fleur. Her breath was warm against Fleur's flushed skin, and as her teeth grazed Fleur's collar bone, she could not help but moan Hermione's name.

Fleur's fingers flexed under the pillow she had been holding. She exhaled, her breath already coming in short pants. "'arder."

There was something wicked about the way that Hermione moved against her, wicked and sinfully slow. Fleur groaned, feeling Hermione's palm press up against the tight circle of nerves just above where her unrelenting fingers were pushing in and out of her with that same, tantalizingly slow pace.

Fleur squirmed, knowing that she could not resist Hermione's touch. This was them now, this was their dance, the fatal pull of attraction between their two bodies. It would drive her insane, eventually, Fleur knew this – and yet she did not care. The burn of that pewter ring as it rested against her arm was enough to drive her to ecstasy she could barely imagine.

"Please…" She breathed, Hermione's teeth, tongue and hand unrelenting in their motion, biting, roughly claiming ownership – taking everything Fleur had to give and more.

When she did come, it came quickly, unexpectedly. She had not felt it building and she found herself upset that it was not as fantastic as she had hoped for. Hermione was eyeing her, panting in the afterglow with a closed-off expression on her face.

"We're fully bonded now, aren't we?" She asked, pulling off her shirt and tossing it half-heartedly towards Fleur's wardrobe where Fleur's boots and pants lay carelessly discarded.

Speech still not coming to her clearly, Fleur nodded. She inhaled deeply, careful not to move too suddenly – she was still so sensitive – and sat up. Her fingers, sharp white-tipped nails ever ready to strike, brushed against the soft skin of Hermione's cheek and Fleur shuddered.

She cannot handle this right now. She was too trapped, too full of everything that they'd done and what was going to happen in the morning. Jones wasn't dead, but he was gone, and Fleur was finally free.

Free to be completely and utterly terrified.

"We are," Her voice was low, husky. They'd just had sex, but it was her turn now, and she was going to make Hermione scream.

Her fingers trailed lower, tracing Hermione's still kiss-swollen lips, pausing as Hermione's tongue flicked out to taste them. "You are now mine," Fleur shifted, fully naked against Hermione's still partially-clothed body. "I 'ate to tell you this."

Hermione grinned, "I think I can deal with that."

Fleur laughed, her smile bright and illuminating as their bodies crashed together and she forced Hermione onto her back, tense and full of longing.

Their bodies moved as one throughout the night, pushing against each other further and further towards their future together.

x

**Minister For Magic Special Statement**

_by Rita Skeeter, Special to _The Daily Prophet

LONDON – Minister For Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt released a statement late yesterday evening stating that the terrorist, Jones, is in custody. Real name Isaac Richards, the man known as Jones has been working against the inclusion of those with less than pure human blood into modern wizarding society. As Mr. Richards is a muggle born and a Hogwarts graduate, he has had the finest magical education that Wizarding Britain had to offer and yet his politics and convictions drove him to attack a student and professor from Hogwarts School.

Minister Shacklebolt, a former auror himself, said that the investigation was still ongoing but confided in this reporter that the case against Mr. Richards was quite strong and that he was sure to serve time for his crimes. Mr. Richards is indicated in the murder of a noted part-harpy singer that transpired in October of last year.

While Mr. Richards has yet to obtain a solicitor, there is a supposition on the part of the _Prophet_ that he will obtain one in the morning, or one will be appointed to represent him if he cannot afford one. This is an intriguing development as many wartime laws are still in place and if the Ministry were to follow wartime policies the character also known as Jones would be locked up without a trial. This reporter finds herself wondering why it is that a man who is so obviously guilty is being allowed to stand trial, but it is the temperature of the day and the Minister for Magic is well and correct in his want to follow the old, pre-war laws.

What is unclear at the time is if the duel that Mr. Richards got into with the aurors was justified or if he was merely apprehended. It was implied in the Minister's statement that attack that instigated the confrontation as unprovoked, but there are no indicators that anyone is at fault in the Minister's public statement and this reporter cannot find evidence of this through other sources.

x

"Well, I'm glad _that's_ over," Townsend said, throwing down his copy of _The Daily Prophet _with disgust. "Now we can finally go about our _lives_."

Fleur turned to stare at him, happy to say that his reaction was exactly her own. Thank Merlin, there's no more for them. They could finally move on.

She was comfortable and sore, her body ached all over from the touch and feel of Hermione last night and into that morning. She'd had very little sleep, but she did not care. She was finally free.

TO BE CONCLUDED


	38. Postlude

**Golden Haze**

**Postlude**

**AN: **There's just one more part following this one, and it should be up in the next few days, leaving me to feel a lot less guilty when I write Rizzoli and Isles fanfic, knowing that this is done.

This chapter was intended to give conclusion to Hermione's year at Hogwarts - the next chapter, the real conclusion, will provide the finale for the story. Hopefully it won't be too hard to write for me.

* * *

Thomas Granger boarded the bright red train at King's Cross station with some trepidation. His wife had found them a compartment next to Molly and Arthur Weasley, familiar faces among a sea of strange and unfamiliar ones. He wasn't really the sort to believe in magic, not before Hermione started doing strange things at the age of three and certainly not after her Hogwarts letter had been hand-delivered by an elderly witch named McGonagall.

This train, however, was most certainly magical. The steam that's billowing from the smokestack is a strange orange-like color and there's little purple sparks catching on the smoke.

He did not like it.

He read the wizarding newspaper; he did it because Hermione had somehow found the money to buy them a subscription after they got back from their prolonged holiday in Australia. He tried to be as understanding as possible, and for the most part he was successful.

But still, magic was enough to give him pause and freak him out at times. He didn't like the strange and sudden changes in things, the way that photographs moved like little video screens within bloody paper. He didn't like how that world had taken his daughter, his young and innocent daughter, and had turned her into a young woman that he could barely recognize.

_At least she's happy_, Thomas thought, swinging his legs up and onto the train, heading past the uncomfortable combination of wizarding and non-wizarding folk that had gathered on the train, watching with half-terrified eyes for some sign of the violence that this entire community is still reveling in. There was not any, there never was any outward sign that anything was wrong. All was well, as they say.

They'd met the girl that Hermione had fallen in love with in April, before Hermione started to truly study for her final examinations. Thomas didn't have much of an opinion on Fleur Delacour other than that she was French, very pretty, and seemed quite smart. Hermione was obviously taken with her, and he would have been a complete idiot to not miss the ring on Hermione's finger. At least it wasn't on her ring finger – it wasn't an engagement ring.

He was pretty sure that that would come soon enough, after Hermione was done studying in bloody Cairo.

He understood that Fleur Delacour was an archeologist by trade, that she had formerly worked for the wizarding bank, Gringotts, extracting things from tombs in the Middle East. That was all well and good, but he did not want this French witch taking away his daughter. Not when they'd only just gotten her back.

He was so grateful that Hermione was still honest with them both, and as he sat down next to Molly Weasley, they all shared a smile – world weary and distant. Hermione had said that one of their sons had been killed during the war, that Molly wasn't coping with it as well as she let on. He could see it in the drawn lines in her face, and in the way that she fingered the wand just barely peeking its way out of her sweater's pocket.

"You two have never been to Hogwarts, right?" Arthur's tone was kind and they share a long look between them. The Weasleys know what Hermione did, Thomas reasons, and they're not sure it was the correct choice either.

"No," Thomas confessed, wishing he could say otherwise. "Just the village, so we've seen it, you know, off in the distance."

Hermione had mentioned something about muggle-repelling charms on the castle, but Thomas had not felt drawn to leave as he looked up at the spires and pennants waving in the distance. Instead, he felt drawn to the place, like one feels when coming home. He'd asked Hermione about it, once they'd settled down to eat their lunch, and Hermione had told him that that was fairly normal.

Molly smiled kindly at them, "You're in for a treat. The commencement ceremonies that they have are lovely."

Thomas was glad of that, because all of his friends and colleagues were asking when Hermione would finish college and move on to university. There was only so much lying that he and his wife can do on Hermione's behalf, they haven't even told the extended family that she's a witch.

It was probably for the best. Grangers and Hughes are sensible people, and magic isn't really their speed.

The train whistle sounded and soon the train lurched into life, pulling out of the station and speeding off north (Hermione had told them that Hogwarts was somewhere in Scotland – she was never really sure exactly where) towards their daughter and an uncertain future.

x

They had named Hermione the way that they had because at the time, it had made perfect sense. They were both educated people, they loved the classics and Shakespeare as well, and when it came time for them to have a child, they picked the name of the little girl left behind by Helen when Paris took her away to Troy.

Jean was for Thomas' mother, who they both missed dearly. She had died about a year before Hermione was bored and the pain of her loss still panged Thomas at times, when he was alone late at night reading the same books his mother used to read.

"Dot?" He said quietly, pulling on his wife's arm as the steam and smoke cleared. There were winged horse-things attached to carriages lining the road just outside of the station. "Dot, look!"

"Ah yes, Thestrals," Arthur gave Thomas and Dorothy a friendly smile. "I take it you've seen someone die?" His face was grim then, lines drawn out long and hard and Thomas realized that almost everyone here could probably see those creatures.

A lot of people, according to the wizarding newspapers, died here.

They clamber into the back of a carriage and ride up to the castle in silence. The grounds still were marred with the marks of the battle, and large monuments stood to remember the dead there. There was a pavilion tent set up on the wide and sweeping green, and the school's students were milling about as the parents start to arrive.

_There are two classes graduating this session_, Hermione had written them the week before, _So the ceremony is going to be a bit long, but I think it'll be worth it for you both to come and see where it is I went to school._

Hermione found them in the crowd a few minutes later, dragging Harry and Ron along to come and say hello. They're wearing robes and cords and are all dressed in the style that Thomas has come to learn is called wizarding-formal. He doesn't know how to react to this vibrant young woman standing before him, ring twinkling on her finger, rosy cheeks and hair tamed into some semblance of order.

His little girl's hair was untamable curls that he loved to bury his nose in when she was still too young to protest.

This was a lot bloody harder than he'd thought it would be.

"'lo dad!" Hermione laughed, batting Ronald Weasley's hands away from her hair – he seemed to be as fascinated by its tamed state as Thomas was. "Mum."

Harry Potter stopped just short of the bear hug Thomas was currently giving Hermione, but his smile was genuine and Thomas wass glad to see it. He knew that Harry had been through a lot recently.

"Did you want to find seats? The ceremony's going to be starting soon and we need to be getting back in line."

Dorothy nodded and Hermione grinned at both of them, hugging them tightly once more, before running off after her friends and into her uncertain future.

"I guess we can give up on her ever becoming a doctor…" Thomas sighed quietly as they found seats next to a rather stuffy-looking blond woman.

"Well, she could still go to university, if she wanted to." Dorothy shrugged. "It would just be a matter of getting her exam results erm – fixed. They do that here don't they?"

Thomas laughed and the woman next to them looked down her nose at them and then turned away. He scowled at her turned back and watch as the ceremony began.

x

The ceremony was short and to the point. Each graduate's name was read by their head of house (or former head of house, in the case of Hermione's class) and there was a brief comment about what that student had been particularly skilled at. Hermione's had been charms and potions – but Thomas knew from her school reports that there was no subject at Hogwarts in which Hermione did not excel.

They stood as one and were recognized with clapping and wands shooting sparks up and into the air. Thomas felt his heart swell with pride as it was announced that Hermione was the best in the class, followed by a young man that she'd mentioned in passing, Draco Malfoy. The woman next to them clapped loudly when his name was read – perhaps she was his mother.

There were obviously missing faces, parents without children attached to them, coming to mourn among their peers on this joyous moment.

Thomas felt for them. He wanted to reach out to a crying young couple holding a photograph of a little boy with a camera, he wanted to put his arm around Molly Weasley as she lamented that Fred had never had a chance to graduate (even though Thomas understood that both he and his brother had dropped out). Death was everywhere here, and the cloud of it hung over the school like a shroud.

He could not wait to leave.

When all was said and done, Hermione came back over to them, Fleur Delacour in tow and a foolishly large grin on her face. "Mum, dad," she began, "I'm so glad you came."

There wasn't much else to be said, Thomas opened his arms and pulled his daughters in close to him, hugging them both and telling them how proud he was of them. They were going to Cairo, to the university there, to learn about dead wizards and anthropology. It was what Hermione wanted, and she'd taken it like she'd always done.

As a father, Thomas could not have been happier.


	39. Finale

**Golden Haze, Finale**

AN: Finally this is done! I love you all so much, you who have stuck with this story through the ups and downs of my life and my writing insanity. I think that you all are amazing and thank you so much for reading this story and enjoying it as much as I have enjoyed writing it.

* * *

A series of letters from the academic year 1999-2000:

_August 20, 1999_

_Dear Harry (& Ron who I'm sure will read this letter)_

_Cairo is an amazing city! Fleur has found another position at Gringotts and they have even revoked my ban upon entry for their branch here in the city and has started work as of two weeks ago – I start classes next week to complete my mastery. _

_I'm sorry that I have not written sooner. It is absolutely barking mad here. I personally blame the heat but there's some unrest going on locally because of something the muggles are up to going on as well. I've been reading the muggle papers as best as I can, but I don't speak Arabic so I am limited._

_You all should come visit some time, I know that auror training is difficult and you aren't allowed many breaks at the beginning, but I miss you both, terribly._

_All my love,_

_Hermione_

x

_September 2, 1999_

_Dear Hermione –_

_Aurors are bloody insane. The amount of coursework that we have to do is positively mad. We are working constantly. Nothing we did in school even remotely prepared us for this. Wish you were here to help, could really use one of your study guides right about now._

_I can't write much, got no time to sleep, let alone breathe,_

_Ron_

_Hi Hermione – Ron has taken to hiding with your letters and responding to them without my input. We're doing well – but Ron's right, we're both going mad here. Training is insane. Hopefully will be able to floo call you soon. -Harry_

X

_September 25, 1999_

_Dear Mum and Dad – _

_I don't know how to begin this letter. I don't even know where to start. I am so tired to dropping metaphorical bombs in your laps in letters and in the brief time that we've been able to speak over the phone. I am so deeply, incredibly sorry to do it again._

_Fleur is pregnant._

_I cannot get into the specifics of how, but know that the reasoning behind it is purely logical. I do not make poor choices like this. This is not the time in my life that I find completely ideal to have a child, but we have no choice._

_Fleur grandmother wrote us not long after we moved here and told us that we had a very limited window of time before Fleur's body would begin to attempt to create offspring at any possible chance it got. As we are both working professionals, this was not an option._

_I have explained some of this to you, at Christmas and then after my commencement ceremony. Fleur's grandmother is a magical creature called a veela, because of this, Fleur is not entirely human. Her body is part magical creature, and because of that she is subject to slightly different urges and desires than a human being. _

_One of which is the desire to mate._

_Mum, dad, I can't even find the words to put this in. Fleur had to have a child or else she would go insane and probably attack me, the emotional transference is too strong a pull for her to resist. No magic in the world could protect me from her when she's like this, so I merely have to go with it._

_So yes, Fleur is pregnant. It will be a girl, her name will be Victoire Jean. _

_x_

"The phone's ringing," Dorothy Granger called to her husband from where she was elbow-deep in soapsuds. He had cooked that evening, so she was doing her turn with the dishes.

The house was oddly quiet. Thomas was in the other room reading the wizarding newspaper, and Dot was pretending that she didn't mind that he kept up with it. So many things were happening in both the wizarding and non-magical world these days that it was challenging to keep track of them all. Dot was fairly certain that Thomas read the wizarding newspaper for the inanity of the reporting and the columns of magical-non-magical dating advice. Which were, admittedly, hilarious.

They were not talking about it.

Not talking about how their daughter has matured to the point of being almost unrecognizable to them, about how she's off in Cairo, further her education when all they want is for her to be close at home. The fact that her daughter is going to be a mother soon.

"Got it," Thomas called, and there was the sound of shuffling from the sitting room as he folded the paper and stood to answer the telephone. She couldn't hear anything for a minute before her husband's joyous shout of her daughter's name cut across the room like music to Dot's ears.

She dried her hands.

"—you've taken classes in what now?" Thomas was saying as Dot came into the living room. "Forensic linguistic analysis of old Egyptian? Why on earth would you possibly need to know that?"

Dot laughed. Hermione was always putting others to shame with her vast knowledge of seemingly trivial things that proved to be useful, upon some eventuality. She'd always been like that, even as a small child.

Thomas and Hermione talked for a few more moments, Dot was quick to notice how he did not ask about Fleur, about the pregnancy. She supposed that it was probably too soon to ask questions like that, Hermione's letter had barely come a month ago now.

He handed the phone to her a few minutes later and kissed her cheek, inclining with his head that he'd finish doing the dishes. Dot raised her hand in protest, but then Hermione was talking over the static-filled international telephone connection and Dot had to concentrate to understand what Hermione was saying.

"Hey sweetie," She breathed, happy to hear her daughter's voice. Cairo really was too far away.

"Hey mum," Hermione returned. "Have you been listening in?"

"A bit. Your father said something about your classes going well?" Dot is avoiding the subject too, it seems.

"Yes, Fleur is helping me with some of the ancient Egyptian – she had to learn a lot of it when she first started working for Gringotts, even if they've mostly just got her working in the office now." Hermione sounds tired, but it's late at night there with the time difference.

"Is she doing alright?" Since Hermione has brought Fleur up, Dot supposes that it's in good taste to comment on it. She doesn't really approve of them doing something so young, but the letter that Hermione had sent had included several pages from various books that seemed to imply very heavily that because Fleur was at least some part 'veela' - whatever that was – that there wasn't much of a choice to be had in the matter.

"She doesn't like it – she'd wanted to wait." Hermione said quietly. There was a crackle of static and then Hermione adds, "I'm too young to do this."

"But it's a necessity, from what you implied."

"Yes, unfortunately."

Dot pursed her lips. "I just hope that you're prepared to care for a child since you are going to be having one whether or not you want to."

Hermione was always prepared, though; this should not be a problem.

x

_November 2, 1999_

_Fleur –_

_It is truly astonishing to think that we are finally at a point where we can simply be _friends_ again. Friends who have so much caught up in each other's lives still – and now, with little Victoire, still just a figment of all our imaginations, you have saved me yet again. I am forever in your debt and gratitude. _

_She'll come in March, a perfect sign for a perfect child, right? I'm just hoping that you'll be alright, alone in a strange country with even more bizarre customs. Hermione has a good head on her shoulders, I'm sure that she'll keep you safe._

_I am actually writing you to give an update on the Jones situation. Issac Richards has been sentenced to a life prison term in Azkaban, no possibility for early release. Part of his rehabilitation program (more like punishment for one such as himself) is that he will be interviewed and examined extensively by many mixed-race therapists and academics who have taken an interest in his case. Minister Shacklebolt thought that it was a fitting end for him and I am in agreement on that front._

_Mum says that they should have given him the dementor's kiss for what he did to you – and to Hermione – but, as I have told her many times, they do not do that anymore. Dementors are banished back into the well of despair that they once originated from and no one could be any happier for it. We do not need such a blight upon society freely roaming where we keep our most dangerous._

_All my best,_

_William_

x

_December 24, 1999_

_Dear Hermione,_

_Sorry that you could not come home this Christmas, but I understand that traveling at that late stage in a pregnancy would be very challenging for Fleur. Maybe we'll come see you? Haha, like that could actually happen. Ron and me are way to bloody tried to even walk down to the pub after work, let alone try and organize an international apparation or portkey. We'll have to wait until this auror training is done, won't be too long now. _

_I miss you. And Fleur, but mostly you. Ron does too. He's found some girl that's taking up all of his free time and I'm going slightly mad because it's like the Lavender Brown debacle of sixth year all over again. (speaking of her, I saw her the other day, she's doing as well as could be expected, but you know her – she'll pull through.) Ron says that I have got to get myself a girl who is not Ginny so that we can go out together and he won't be mildly horrified every time I kiss her._

_Gin says hello, by the way. _

_We're all at Ron's mum's for Christmas. Andromeda came along with Teddy and Draco Malfoy has apparently taken to corrupting him while I'm stuck at auror training. The little shite has taught my GODSON to call me 'scarface.'_

_Basically, we are lost, desperate and useless without you. Please come home soon,_

_Harry_

x

A Clipping from the _Daily Prophet_, March 6th, 2000:

**Births**

Delacour-Granger: _A baby girl, Victoire Jean was born early yesterday morning at four thirty local time in Cairo. As of now, the Prophet has been unable to ascertain any more details as to how this baby is faring, but it is safe to say that with veela blood running through her veins, she is probably doing just fine. _

_x  
_

**Two Years Later:**

Teddy Lupin was a rambunctious five year old. Hermione had not been expecting him to be quite _so_ exuberant when she'd agreed to allow him, as well as his godfather and her best friend, to come visit the tent that was currently home to her little family.

They were on a dig, an excavation, as Fleur liked to put it. The large arching structures were half-buried in the sands of time where slowly being blown and blasted away by charms that Hermione had painstakingly learned in school to reveal the wonders of the ancient world. The old tenants of ancient wizardry where such that she spent much of her time supervising Victoire while Fleur went down into the tombs and broke the curses and jinxes so old that they had become volatile. Hermione did not mind spending time with her little girl, but she was incredibly grateful when Harry had arrived with Teddy and Victorire had taken an immediate liking to the boy. They were currently constructing some sport of castle using sticks and leaves from the lone palm that served as their oasis in the middle of the Jordanian desert.

"You doing alright, Hermione?" Harry asked as Hermione set down her quill and closed her book wearily. He was a full auror now, he had his own beat and got to solve cases and help people. Hermione was so proud of him.

Hermione shrugged, "As well as I can be doing."

"They get better, you know, when they're not two years old." They both laughed.

"Oh, I know, I'm just grateful that Fleur's grandmere agreed to come and supervise them both. She is not much for the heat, you see." Hermione laughed, thinking of Fleur's imposing grandmother and her magically conjured lawn chair, sitting in the shade watching her great-grandchild and her new friend play.

"That was nice of her." Harry intoned quietly, running a hand through his sweaty hair. He wasn't used to the heat and it was showing. It was actually fairly cool that morning.

Hermione's voice dropped conspiratorially low, "She just thinks we're bad parents and wants to make sure Vic gets the best parenting possible."

"Zat es _parce que vous vivez dans le désert!" _Fleur's grandmother's voice was loud and mildly terrifying. Hermione winced and Harry burst out laughing. "'ardly a place for a child."

She didn't say anything, she knew it wasn't the best place for Victoire with her sun kissed skin and her insatiable curiosity. Hermione could not help it, she had to give her child the best she could, and this was far better than cold, rainy, England and the potential for a very self-important government job that Hermione was sure was waiting for her if she ever went back.

She did not want to go back, she and Harry and Fleur had talked about this the night before. Fleur's grandmother had been snoring – Hermione was not entirely sure that she was _actually_ asleep, and they had discussed their plans for the future.

"I would rather Victoire go to 'ogwarts," Fleur had admitted quietly. "Beauxbatons is probably not the best of 'abitats for her."

Hermione had agreed, especially if she was going to have cousins and friends and family also going to Hogwarts.

Now, as she and Harry sat at the camp table that functioned as the household's dinner table, Hermione could not help but smile. "I think she likes Teddy," she whispered conspiratorially at Harry.

"Hermione he's five, she's two, of _course_ she likes him." Harry laughed. "Besides… Gin and I were thinking that it might be our turn for real." He coughed, "Once we get married, of course."

Hermione nodded, she'd been introduced to the legalese of being not wedded to the mother of one's child not long after Victoire was born and it was quite horrible. She advised Harry against it the last time he'd brought up children.

"A new generation of troublemakers, huh?" Hermione laughed.

"I take it that you are not going to willingly give pointers?" Fleur's voice was soft and mild from the entrance of the tent and Hermione's face blossomed into a smile. She stood quickly, crossing the room and throwing her arms around her love.

Harry grinned, "Yeah, really Hermione, you were the worst of all of us at rule breaking."

Fleur kissed Hermione who muttered indignantly that she was quite certain she only broke stupid rules that were asking for it and Fleur patted her on the head and quietly told her to not worry about it. "I can corrupt our child enough for both of us."

"Hey!"

But it was alright, everything was alright now. Voldemort was gone, Jones was in prison, their lives were finally happy once again. Hermione realized that soon she was going to have to ask Fleur to marry her – they could not keep beating around the bush like this forever, and this was her forever and her always.

And Hermione Granger was really okay with that.

FIN


End file.
